Lonely Way Back Home
by ConeycatJr
Summary: Written for a prompt on Norsekink asking for a universe-swap involving canon/god!Loki involuntarily changing places with a much saner, supernatural but not-a-god!Loki. It's also a crossover with The Avengers, in an unfriendly way!
1. Chapter 1

_**Notes:**__ What is referred to in this story as "Mi6" is of course now officially called the "Secret Intelligence Service," but the previous name is still in informal use. _

_The alternate universes in this story are the fluffy Housemates universe, and a version of **The Avengers**' universe. Because the prompt suggests that the swap be frightening and unpleasant for the friendlier Loki (and also because I disliked **The Avengers**!) I'll be treating that universe as hostile. Let's just consider them both alternate universes for the purposes of this story!_

_**Warnings:**__ None needed- yet._

**Chapter One**

Agent Coulson looked up as Loki, Thor, and Steve Rogers entered his office in SHIELD's Los Angeles headquarters.

"Close the door behind you," he ordered, then gestured for the three to seat themselves. When they had, he went on, "We need to talk about this business with the television show next week."

"What of it?" asked Thor. "It was our understanding that SHIELD wishes for us to make this appearance."

Coulson managed to remain impassive and yet simultaneously pull a disgruntled face- Loki found it fascinating, how he could do so- before replying,

"It's not so much that SHIELD _wants_ you to do it. It's more a matter of bowing to the inevitable, and trying to make the best of it. The Avengers are _personalities-"_ Coulson uttered the word as if it were some malediction, although being Coulson he restrained himself from the use of "air quotes"- "and people want to know more about you."

"Indeed," murmured Loki, who despite having no secret identity took a certain amount of trouble- magical and otherwise- to maintain what Midgardians referred to as _a low profile._

"That's the way things are, these days," Coulson said, rather sourly.

"That's the way things always have been," Steve pointed out reasonably. "Or at least since before the war." No one, certainly not Loki, troubled to remind him that "the war" was not exactly a specific time reference on a world so prone to conflict as Midgard. Everyone in the room knew exactly the war of which he spoke. Steve went on, "I mean, I still remember the fuss people made over King Edward and Mrs. Simpson."

"And certainly the existence of mythology implies such interest has always existed," Thor added. With a sly sidelong glance at his brother, he went on, "Mortals have ever been fascinated with the doings of… _personalities._ Their adventures and conflicts. Their loves. Who among them has borne a foal- I mean a _child_- to another."

Clearly, Thor had gotten his hands upon a book of Norse mythology. Perhaps his beloved Dr. Jane Foster had loaned him her own.

"Who among them cuts the most attractive figure in a _wedding gown,"_ Loki retorted, without looking at his brother, who snickered.

"Knock it off, you two," ordered Coulson, and the two aliens- _aliens,_ and _not _godsof_ anything-_ sat up straight and mimicked Steve's expression of earnest sincerity. Loki's was the more convincing, which meant that anyone in their right mind would realize it was false. Thor's was considerably marred by the crinkles around his eyes.

Coulson knew both brothers well enough to be aware they were mocking him but would also cooperate, so he let it alone and returned to the business of this meeting. "Now, the issue with the program is- " he began, but Steve interrupted him.

"Wait, Agent Coulson, shouldn't Tony be here too? Since he's also appearing on the show?"

Loki cocked an eyebrow at the good captain, Thor looked patient, and Coulson frowned.

"Steve," the agent said evenly, "the briefing is _about_ Tony." Before Steve could protest such base treachery, or argue the discussion should not be carried on behind Tony's back, Coulson explained, "The woman who hosts the program is an old friend of Tony's- they've worked together on a number of charity events. That's actually one of the reasons you've been booked on her show in the first place: this is a fluff piece, strictly for PR purposes, not hard-hitting journalism. Nobody at SHIELD wants you answering serious policy questions, or to be put in a situation where you'll be badgered to reveal sensitive information. So it seemed smart to have you appear on a friendly daytime program whose host is unlikely to try to corner Tony and bait him into saying something controversial. This isn't a controversial show.

"But. You never know what might happen, if the host gets curious and Tony gets expansive and… indiscreet." Coulson paused, letting them all think about that. Tony could be _indiscreet_ enough when he was being _discreet_.

"Come on, Agent Coulson," Steve spoke up loyally, "you know Tony wouldn't- " Common sense made him stop and consider. Rather weakly, Steve completed the sentence: "Well, not on _purpose."_

"On purpose or by accident won't matter, if he blurts out information about our collaborations with _British vampires and werewolves_. For example." Coulson looked at Loki, who blanched at the idea, and then added, "Or if he accidentally mentions the name of a deep-cover agent, or something like that. You know Tony: his own life is more or less an open book, and he might forget himself, especially talking to a friend. You three are _out_, as it were: everybody knows who you are, and as _Captain America_ and a couple of _Norse gods-"_

"Aliens," Loki corrected scrupulously.

"Gods, aliens, it's all the same to the viewing public. You're interesting. Tony's Iron Man, and everyone knows it. It would be very easy for him to do all the talking and let something slip, if his fellow guests were retiring or dull, so that's where you come in."

"You want us to head him off if he looks like he's about to get carried away?" Steve asked.

"Exactly," Coulson replied. "I'd do it myself, but it'd look bad if I had to taser him on camera to make him shut up." He looked briefly regretful, then glanced at the other three to ensure they understood their roles.

"I will not strike Tony with lightning!" Thor protested when Coulson's eye rested upon him. Assuredly Thor did not really believe Agent Coulson would ask such a thing of him, but Loki thought it wise of his brother to establish what they had heard Steve refer to as "the ground rules" at the outset.

"No, of course not," Coulson said patiently. "Anyway, that would look even worse."

"And probably set the studio on fire," Steve murmured.

"We just want you to be paying attention. If you realize he's going off in a direction that might, for instance, embarrass Dr. Banner or Agent Romanov or someone, intervene," Coulson went on, as though Steve had not spoken. "I'll be right off-camera, in a location visible to you, and if I get concerned I'll catch your eye. Otherwise, use your own judgment."

Thor looked considerably worried by that: being himself of an open, friendly disposition, he obviously considered himself the least likely of the three to notice an indiscretion of Tony's until it was too late. Loki rather thought Thor was giving himself too little credit, and spoke up.

"I take it you would wish for such _intervention_ to take the form of a funny story about our difficulties in learning modern Midgardian ways, or perhaps of a harmless incident on some other realm?" he suggested. Thor's face cleared a little: he certainly grasped the differences between Aesir and human sensibilities, and thus knew the sort of story humans would consider harmlessly amusing. And he was willing enough, here on Midgard, to make sport of his own difficulties. As long as he was given some sort of signal, he would ably do his part.

"Exactly," Coulson agreed. "Or if it looks like a real emergency, you could turn yourself into a duck or something. Whatever."

"Very well," Loki agreed.

"The host will help you out," Coulson added. "Like I said, it's a friendly show, and you guys are all likable. She won't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Did she and Tony ever... " Steve looked embarrassed. "You know. I mean, before Pepper. Tony's always been pretty open about being, well- "

"He was," Coulson agreed. "But no. I think it's safe to say she and Tony never... _you know."_

"Just wondering," Steve mumbled. Loki could not blame the captain for asking: after years of observing his brother's- and more particularly his brother's friend Fandral's- interactions with women, he knew quite well that what Steve referred to as _you know_ could introduce a considerable amount of difficulty to any subsequent relationship. As a bystander, he counted himself lucky his brother and Sif, the shieldmaiden who was Thor's nearest dear companion back on Asgard, had never engaged in _you know._ The resultant awkwardness might easily have gotten someone killed.

"All right, that's all I needed to talk to you about," Coulson said, standing. "I'll see you back at Tony's place in an hour or so."

Loki was following Steve and Thor to the door when the agent added, "Actually- if you could give me a second, Loki." When Thor and Steve looked back, Agent Coulson gestured for them to go on. A moment later, the door closed and Loki was left behind.

"Yes?" Loki asked, his tone and expression unconcerned. His stomach, on the other hand, felt most uneasy, and he found himself hastily considering all the possible ways he might have unwittingly done something to earn a rebuke from the quiet agent. Nothing immediately came to mind, but that did not mean there was not _something._

Coulson sighed. "Calm down," he ordered, and Loki did not even try to pretend not to know what the agent meant. Coulson said bluntly, "When you're on the show- don't start apologizing."

"I beg your pardon?" Loki inquired, then flushed in embarrassment, even though surely that did not count as a real apology. "What do you mean?" he asked next.

"When you're on the show," Coulson repeated, "SHIELD- and Mi6, for that matter- don't want you to get into your reasons for being here on Earth. Make up something harmless- what's that thing British kids do, when they take some time to travel after they finish school? Gap year? Like that. And don't get into Puente Antiguo." Loki felt his face go even hotter. Agent Coulson certainly realized the fact Loki did not even try to suppress his guilty reaction was a gesture of trust, but he did not comment. Instead, he emphasized, "Don't bring it up. Or Jotunheim."

"You wish for me to create the impression that I am well-disposed and harmless," Loki said, trying not to sound accusing.

Coulson shrugged. "Well, to be fair, these days you _are,_ at least to anyone who's 'well-disposed and harmless' themselves. And even when you weren't, there were extenuating circumstances."

"Insanity excuses everything," Loki muttered. "I was not as irrational as all that when I set the Destroyer on my brother, you know."

"The fact you're no longer banished, and a free citizen of Asgard again, suggests your dad sees it differently," Coulson said. "The point is, there isn't any need for you to get into details about your role in events you've already made amends and been pardoned for. Besides- when you get right down to it, the only member of the Avengers whose closet doesn't rattle with skeletons is Steve. You're not the only one who's been allowed to move on and try to do better in the future. If _you_ start apologizing for _your_ past, it could open up the whole team to scrutiny, even though- yes, I know- you're technically not an Avenger. SHIELD and Mi6 would really prefer you don't do anything to draw that kind of attention."

"What if someone asks?" Loki said worriedly. Obviously, he would simply lie, but the prospect of such questions was unpleasant.

Coulson looked thoughtful. "The host won't. And the type of studio audience she attracts isn't likely to. SHIELD will be scrutinizing everyone who has tickets to the taping anyway, and if there's a question-answer period, our people will be in control of the microphone and relay questions to the stage. That's to avoid embarrassing anyone, especially SHIELD, not just you. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki agreed.

Coulson smiled, a few degrees warmer than his usual, meaningless one. "Just chat with the host and have fun. Believe me, nobody wants to make you out to be a villain anymore."

"Myself least of all," Loki agreed.

~oOo~

Loki needed to get back to Bristol, as he had to go to work in the morning, but after leaving the office he accompanied Thor- whose lack of curiosity about his conversation with Coulson suggested he had been given an advance briefing of his own- back to Tony Stark's sprawling home in Malibu. (Steve, it transpired, had been invited by Pepper to visit a gallery hosting a display of American artists he admired, and had left directly from the interview to meet her.)

The brothers joined Tony, as well as Drs. Foster and Banner, in the underground laboratory in which Tony made all his studies.

"Okay," Tony said cheerfully. "We've gotten the results back from those preliminary tests we did a few weeks ago." Loki and Thor had surrendered samples of saliva, hair, and-as a sorcerer, this was a considerable gesture of trust on Loki's part- blood, and Tony had arranged for various tests to be run on them. "This won't come as any surprise to either of you, but the genetic comparison between Thor's samples and the ones we took from Loki in his Aesir form are identical, so far as species goes."

"I have already told you my Aesir form is a true one," Loki pointed out, trying not to sound affronted.

"I know, and we all believed you were right about that, but from the scientific point of view we had to confirm it," Tony explained- not for the first time. "What _else_ is interesting is, your DNA is of course completely different from anything we've seen before, but there were similarities between the two samples that parallel the similarities you get in mammals who are related by blood." Loki raised his eyebrows, Thor looked hopeful, and Tony spelled it out: "Whatever information your magic used when it created your Aesir form seems to have been gathered very directly from both your parents. In other words, you're Thor's brother from a genetic standpoint as well as a legal and emotional one."

While Loki and Thor digested that information, Jane spoke up.

"Also, the samples we took from you in your Jotun form apparently caused the lab equipment to go completely crazy, so, again, we're going to assume a complete transformation there as well. Meanwhile, the Aesir results indicate we can feel pretty safe in using Thor as a control subject while we run some tests on your magic. If you're still willing to participate, I mean."

"He has already promised he would do so," Thor defended his brother's integrity.

"We still have to ask him," Jane explained.

"But he gave you his word," Thor protested, looking upset that Jane would doubt Loki.

"Yes, but according to _our_ rules, if he wants to change his mind, he can," Jane said firmly.

Loki glanced from her bright-eyed face to that of Bruce, and then Tony. The human scientists had pledged they would do nothing invasive, nor would they use any information gathered in these tests to, for instance, develop means of neutralizing Loki's powers should SHIELD ever wish it done. Jane and Tony, in fact, had looked saddened and horrified when Loki tentatively broached the possibility, which had made him feel wretchedly ashamed of himself. Bruce, whose knowledge of such issues was more... intimate... had been more understanding.

"I will be glad to cooperate," he assured them, almost entirely truthfully. He knew that Tony could be numbered among his friends, as, he hoped, could Jane. He and Bruce were not what could be termed "close," but there was mutual liking and a certain understanding between them, which might indeed develop into true friendship. Of course he could trust them.

"Really, I am happy to be part of your studies," Loki repeated, more sincerely this time. Bruce smiled in a way Loki found reassuring.

"Now," Tony said, enthusiasm bubbling in his voice, "we've talked about it, Jane and Bruce and I, and what we'd like to do today is measure some basic things like your blood pressure and respiration and temperature, so we have some comparisons for later while you cast magic. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki agreed.

"Great," Tony said cheerfully, and then his look went briefly penetrating as he added, "Since we don't really know what we're doing at this point, we figure we'll start with baby steps. Once we've examined the first sets of results and talked them over with you, you can decide whether you want to continue to participate. You can stop us at any time, okay? We won't pester you, or try to make you change your mind."

"But I have _pledged_- " Loki began again, a little bewildered by Tony's and Jane's insistence on this point.

"You've agreed to indulge our curiosity," Bruce spoke up, "about something that's extremely important and very personal to you. But there's a thing in science called _informed consent,_ remember we talked about it?" Loki nodded. "That means that you, as the volunteer, always have the right to know exactly what's going on, and you can withdraw your consent at any time and for any reason."

"You mean a _good_ reason, do you not?" Loki asked.

_"Any_ reason is a good reason," Bruce said firmly. "If you find the process uncomfortable, or embarrassing, or a little scary, or if you think we're being too nosy or you just get bored - "

"If there's a Formula One race on television, and you want to go watch it instead," Tony chipped in, with a glance at the McLaren Racing Group logo on the chest of Loki's t-shirt.

"Right. Any reason at all. Including to reassure yourself that we really will stop when you tell us to," Bruce said.

"You seem to believe I do not trust you," Loki protested, feeling his face flame. He did not look at Thor, not eager to see his brother's reaction to such implied insults to the honour of his friends.

Bruce shrugged. "If you didn't trust us, I very much doubt we'd be here in the first place. But even if we don't know anything about magic, we _do_ understand that poking around at it in any way is already a bit of an invasion. We understand that you're letting us do something you wouldn't let just anybody do. That being the case, the last thing we, as your friends, want to do is make you feel you're somehow compelled to let us do anything we want to you, even if it makes you feel uncomfortable. If you ask us to stop, we'll stop. We promise."

"On our honour, as scientists," Jane added. "Okay? Here on... Midgard, scientists have a duty to respect the rights and wishes of the volunteers who help us. Obviously, we hope you'll find what we do interesting and maybe even fun, but if you don't and you want us to stop- say so and we will. Promise. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki agreed, feeling awkward but also reassured.

"Great," Bruce said calmly. "Now, we'd like to spend a little time today establishing your physical norms, as well as Thor's as our control Aesir."

"If you expect my 'physical norms' to look anything like Thor's, I believe you will be doomed to disappointment," Loki objected.

"Come now, brother, let me join in," Thor said mildly.

"That was not what I meant," Loki mumbled self-consciously.

"Well, if you'd like to recruit some more Aesir to give us a better control group, that would be awesome," Tony said. "As it is, we'd like to measure your resting heart rate, blood pressure, temperature and respiration first. Okay?"

Loki and Thor both nodded.

The measurements of which Tony spoke were straightforward. There was a little trouble over the measurement of Thor's _blood pressure,_ since this required a stretchy band to be wrapped around his upper arm and the largest size they could procure kept flying open every time Thor moved. The scientists had finally to resort to adding an extra piece of fabric, attached with silvery tape. Then there was further difficulty when they attempted to measure Thor's internal temperature by means of a device inserted into his ear.

"Come on, Thor, stop giggling," Tony ordered, leaning in to read the device.

"It tickles," Thor protested. "Also, you are _breathing_ on me."

"Will you quit squirming? I feel like an Asgardian pediatrician."

"That sounds very painful," Thor snickered.

Tony gave up. "Jane, can you take over here?"

"Well-played, brother," Loki congratulated, as Jane took Tony's place leaning against Thor.

After the first tests, the brothers permitted Tony to affix various "sensors" to their bodies, to take the same readings while the wearers ran upon a sort of moving mechanical path. Those tests completed, the three investigators summarized them for Thor and Loki's benefit.

"Thor, your resting temperature is a bit higher than Loki's- " both brothers snorted, which Bruce, reporting, pretended not to notice- "and Loki's blood pressure and heart rate are just a little bit higher than Thor's. The numbers actually even out when you're exercising, at least at the rate we used in the experiment."

"We have one last request to make of you today," Tony said. "The box."

"What box is that?" asked Thor, and Loki, who had once read a very disturbing myth concerning a fictitious Loki imprisoned by a giant, felt himself blanch. The glance Thor cast at Loki suggested his own reading of mythology might have encompassed the same story.

"Agents Coulson and Hill will explain. Follow me," Tony said, and his expression reflected only cheery anticipation of fun to be had. Reassured, but still allowing Thor to precede him, Loki followed the scientists into a second smaller room where Agents Coulson and Hill waited.

The "box" turned out to be a small suitcase, and to Loki's relief it was abundantly clear that no one was meant to be put inside it. Agent Coulson opened it to reveal an electronic device that bore a passing resemblance to the "instrument panels" Loki had seen when riding in Midgardian aircraft.

"This is a polygraph machine," explained Agent Hill. Thor and Loki nodded earnestly, totally bewildered. Hill went on patiently, "It measures some of the same processes as the earlier tests you just went through. The difference is, in the previous tests you were either at rest or physically active. This particular machine measures those processes when you're under mild psychological stress." The brothers looked even more earnest, but also more confused.

"The purpose of the machine is to measure the physiological differences that occur when you're telling us something factual, as opposed to making it up," Coulson took up the explanation. "It operates on the expectation that people- humans, at any rate- feel at least mild stress when they're inventing an answer to a question."

"Lying, in other words," Loki spoke up. "This is a machine meant to detect falsehoods? I have heard reference to such devices in American television programs concerning the activities of the police."

Thor looked rather offended, but Coulson only shrugged. "Okay, you got me: this is the machine used by police forces in what they call 'lie detector tests.' Which is frankly a gross oversimplification, and also an over-estimation of its accuracy."

"It assumes that humans find the act of lying to be worrying, and so their physiological processes reflect that," Loki said. His expression, he knew, reflected his opinion of such beliefs.

"Exactly," interjected Agent Hill. "It's not accepted as totally accurate, and its results are not admissible as evidence in American courts of law. However, for Tony's purposes it's not a bad idea: he's asked us to use it to try to determine whether either of you show different responses when you're making something up. Tony, maybe you should explain your thinking."

"Sure," said Tony, looking slightly uneasy. "It's not that we want to catch you _lying_, we just want to know whether you and Thor register any kind of different readings when you're, you're _inventing_ a story. Then we'll see whether your reactions are similar when you're casting magic. It's the best means we have of measuring your responses when you're doing mental work, similar to the physical work we measured earlier."

"We have no idea whether the results will even make sense," Jane added. "But we'd like to give it a try."

Loki chewed his lip, then nodded. Thor, who had been watching him carefully, spoke up:

"I should like to go first, brother, if you will permit me."

"Actually," said Bruce, "Jane has volunteered to give a demonstration."

Jane accordingly stepped forward, bright-eyed, to be sat down in a straight chair with arms. Agent Hill placed straps containing the sensors around Jane's torso, set smaller ones around two of her fingers, ascertained that Jane was comfortable, and stepped back.

"Have you got the list of questions?" she asked Tony.

"Here you go," Tony replied, handing over a printed sheet. To the others he explained, "We've made up lists of questions we already know the answers to. Jane is going to answer with a simple _yes _or _no._ Some of the time she's going to answer truthfully, and other times with a made-up answer."

"It really is all right for you to say _lie_ in my presence," Loki remarked, beginning to be amused- and also rather touched that they seemed so set upon not alarming or offending him. Tony smiled at him and turned back to Jane.

"Ready, Jane?"

"Ready," Jane confirmed cheerfully. Agent Hill smoothed out the paper she held, Agent Coulson leaned over the machine, and the questioning began.

"Is your name Jane Foster?"

"Yes."

"Do you hold a doctorate in astrophysics?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever gone to Gloucester, in a shower of rain?"

Jane began to giggle. "Yes!"

The process took some fifteen or twenty minutes. It was quickly apparent the questioning was not intended to elicit the sort of anxiety Loki had seen in the television programs concerning policework: Jane was asked to confirm or deny questions related to the universities at which she had studied, her favourite foods, and whether she had ever pined for love of a vampire who sparkled in the sunlight. (Her "No!" to this carried the unmistakable ring of truth.)

By the end of the questioning Jane was giggling quite a lot, and had to compose herself before moving on to the final section- _not_ part of the ordinary process, at least as far as the television had shown- in which she was asked to tell two stories about herself, one true and the other fictitious.

Jane's first story concerned her arrival at the University of Albuquerque to take up her position as something called a "post-doctoral fellow," and her battles with the bureaucracy of the university. These were incredible enough that Loki would have been inclined to believe this was Jane's made-up story, had her second not been a lively account of her role as a spy for the Rebel Alliance against the evil Empire, her theft of some plans for a great battle star and subsequent capture and imprisonment, and her eventual rescue by a ragtag crew including an old man, a young man, a being resembling a big walking carpet, and a very attractive intergalactic smuggler.

When Tony called a halt to the test, Thor gazed at his beloved in wide-eyed admiration.

"Truly, Jane," he said earnestly, "I had no idea you had led a life of such varied adventure! Although I confess myself very interested in the question of what became of the handsome space brigand."

Tony and Bruce exchanged alarmed glances, and Tony said carefully, "Uh, Thor, she was- "

At which point Thor and Jane both began to laugh uncontrollably. Loki found himself - and not for the first time- wishing that Jane was not mortal, and therefore only likely to live another sixty or seventy years.

As Jane was speaking, the machine had been graphing her responses to each question. Agent Coulson had marked any indicators of special note, and now he explained the results to the others.

"Obviously, this was nothing like a standard test," Coulson said in his even, calm voice, "but I think it might really get at the information you need. See here, every time Jane gives an untrue answer to a question, there's a little spike in her heart rate, but we also see the same thing when she finds a question funny. Her reactions to stress or emotion are especially obvious when she's telling her stories- here's quite a big spike, when she talks about dealing with campus IT, that must have been quite a day- "

"You have _no_ idea," Jane assured him.

Agent Coulson nearly smiled. "But when she's telling her made-up story- " Thor and Jane began to laugh again- "her pulse and respiration are consistently, noticeably higher than usual. Since it's unlikely she actually found the story stressful to tell- yes, Thor, I know, such a tale of desperate adventure- it's possible you're seeing an indication of her interest, and the effort of making up the story."

"Remembering it," Jane said. Tony rolled his eyes. Jane kicked him gently in the ankle. "You know what I mean- remembering the plot of the movie."

"I'd love to see what your brain waves were doing when you were telling that story," Tony remarked.

"Well, you keep after the medical supplier for that portable EEG, and I'll be glad to tell it again," Jane replied.

"EEG?" Loki asked politely.

"Electroencephalography machine," Jane explained. "It measures brain activity."

"We can talk about EEGs after we've finished this round," Tony said quickly. "One thing at a time. Especially since we don't even have a machine yet."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "I find it difficult to believe you would have any trouble obtaining an item of technology."

"Well, no," Tony admitted. "It's more a matter of finding one Bruce and I can easily learn to operate and interpret by ourselves. The testing is no big deal, incidentally- you just have to wear a silly hat, with sensors on it. I'm sure you can handle that."

Loki glared. "You did tell me I could withdraw my consent at any time and for any reason, did you not? And besides, as I recall, the last time I wore _a silly hat_, it was pressed upon me by _you."_ Loki did not address, and no one made an issue of, the question of where the idea for the said _silly hat-_ actually a helmet with giant golden horns- had come from in the first place.

Tony smiled charmingly. "And you wore it very well. Okay, which of you characters wants to go first?"

This stage of testing took nearly an hour, by which time Loki was becoming a little restless and beginning to wish to go home. Still, the test itself was quite amusing- indeed, it was worth the use of Loki's free afternoon just to watch Bruce and Tony's faces as they tried to guess which of Thor's tales of swashbuckling adventure were true. The penny finally dropped when, toward the end of the second story, Thor mournfully described the deleterious effect upon his character of a magical ring carried by one of the company.

"I'd have pegged you more for Aragorn than Boromir," Tony remarked. Loki could only agree.

"In that you would be mistaken," Thor replied. "I have not his patience, and certainly not his reticence."

"And where was I in all this, brother?" Loki demanded.

"Oh, by that point in the story you had valorously defended the company from the menaces of a hideous Balrog, and had fallen- " Thor, to Loki's astonishment and horror, fell abruptly and totally silent, his face draining of colour and his eyes filling with tears. Loki stepped hastily forward, crouched, planted both hands on Thor's knees and made his brother look him in the eyes.

"From which I returned with no harm done, and having gained new wisdom. Yes, I recall the incident perfectly now. Although I must say, I feel some sympathy for the poor Balrog, who was only being a Balrog."

"You two ready to switch now?" Bruce asked hastily, and Thor nodded.

Loki did his best to lighten the mood by responding in the affirmative to the most ridiculous of the questions posed him: yes, he had once spent time as an owl (this was in fact true), during which time he had indeed become enamoured of a pussycat (_not_ true, at least not in the sense the question seemed to imply) and had gone with her to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat (green not being one of Loki's favourite colours, he had some doubt about whether a boat in such a shade could even _be_ beautiful.)

Thor appeared quite recovered by the time Loki began to tell his stories. Mostly to be contrary, Loki refrained from rehearsing any tales of past adventure. Instead, he related an account of his first effort at riding a city bus alone, and ending up at the end of the line, across the bridge from the city, with no idea where he was or how to get home. That was his made-up story- Annie, his housemate, had taken care to ensure he fully understood the bus system before he ever attempted such travel alone.

Loki's true story concerned his efforts to learn to use the clothes-washing machine that dwelled in the basement of the little house in Bristol, and how in confused frustration he had finally cast upon it a spell that resulted in a basement flooded with soapy water, and a sea serpent to do the job of thrashing the wet clothing into a state of cleanliness.

"Annie was not best pleased when she beheld my efforts," Loki admitted, and he did not confess how dismayed he had been at her disapprobation.

"I've heard of people doing a half-assed job at a chore to get out of ever having to do it again," remarked Tony, "but that really is ridiculous."

Loki assumed an expression of offended innocence. "But the clothing was rendered very clean, and I sent away the water and the serpent when the job was done. Besides, I have since become quite proficient in such matters, and often do the washing of our entire household." Which was well-known to everyone present, since only this past Christmas he had performed this task for all of the Avengers.

"Well, don't tell Pepper," Tony shuddered. "She'll be after _me_ to learn to do something useful, too. Okay, I think we're done here. Agent Hill, could you- ?"

Agent Hill released Loki from the sensors, which he had successfully avoided thinking of as _restraints_, and the entire group decamped upstairs to a comfortable sitting room with a view over the Pacific Ocean. Tony plied the company with drinks- Bruce, as was his custom, refused alcohol in favour of grapefruit juice with sparkling water. Since he had not enjoyed his only taste of the liquor Tony called _Scotch,_ Loki joined him in that choice.

Agent Coulson produced the marked-up results of the polygraph tests and interpreted them to the company.

"I find this interesting," he said calmly, indicating Thor's test results. "Thor isn't a particularly plausible liar, on the occasions when he tries, but from these results it seems he doesn't seem to find it actually stressful. His test results are pretty much the same all the way through, whether he tells the truth or not."

Thor frowned. "Is that bad?"

Coulson shrugged. "It just is. And probably reflects the fact you know this is a game, so you're not too concerned about it. Loki, now- "

"Yes?" asked Loki, trying to conceal a sudden, powerful wish for his own falsehoods to be undetectable, too. Lying had always been one of his few talents, practically the only thing at which he could best his brother- although it had since transpired he was wrong in his assumption that he was the only or most adept liar in his family- and he was loath to give that up.

Agent Coulson laid out the paper before them. "See for yourself."

It took a moment, but Bruce finally spoke.

"It looks," he said slowly, "as if you have more of a reaction to telling the _truth."_ Loki examined the paper before him and was forced to agree: the spikes representing extra effort- or possibly anxiety- all seemed to occur when Loki spoke honestly.

"Well," he mumbled, embarrassed and afraid this was shameful, "I am after all the so-called God of Lies." Which was weak, and he knew it: Loki was not a god of anything at all, and there must be something wrong with one who told lies so fluently but apparently worried about telling the truth.

Agent Coulson did not look up from the paper, but he said in his flat voice, "Again, this is an artificial test, and you certainly had nothing at stake with your lies." Which rather begged the question of what consequences Loki could possibly think would result from his telling the _truth_, particularly in this company. Still without looking up, Coulson went on, "And you're unlikely to have gotten over the instincts of a lifetime in just a couple of years. This is kind of an interesting anomaly, but I wouldn't worry much about it."

"No?" Loki asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

"No," Coulson said decidedly. He glanced up with one of his faint smiles. "If it makes you feel any better, Natasha and I can both make the box give any result we want. We could probably teach you."

"Well," Tony broke in, "don't explain your technique until after we've had a chance to finish the first round of testing on magic. Another drink, anyone?"

Everyone accepted, and Tony turned the discussion to the upcoming television appearance, and then to a concert to which the Avengers and their friends had been invited at a large sports complex afterward. Loki was uncomfortably aware of the beating of his own heart, which eventually subsided to a rate that would probably be taken for calm unconcern by the polygraph machine.

He was being silly, of course. His heart had indeed once betrayed him- or perhaps he had betrayed _it-_ into villainy, but intent counted for more than the rate of movement of blood, and he would not fall into evil and folly again. He would _not._

Loki leaned back in the comfortable sofa, at the other end from Thor and Jane, and after a while he felt able to join in the conversation.

~oOo~

The emissary had been kept waiting for long enough that most humans would have begun to feel either anxious or impatient. The small, neat, soberly-dressed man who was eventually shown into the throne room seemed to feel neither of those emotions. He strode in a few paces in front of the guards, came to a halt at an appropriate distance from the throne, and bowed to its masked occupant with the correctness of one who has been raised at court.

At such close proximity, it was possible to tell the small, neat, soberly-dressed man was not in fact a man at all.

The being on the throne felt a prickle of interest.

"You have come a considerable distance to seek audience," he stated.

"I have," replied the creature who looked like a man. After a brief pause he went on, "My name is Edgar Wyndham. I come as an emissary of my... people."

"To what purpose?"

Edgar Wyndham's eyes glittered. "We have certain... interests... which are not incompatible with yours. It is our hope that we might find ways to... join forces, and so defeat those who have until now thwarted our aims."

The masked figure leaned forward on his throne, a gesture as much of intimidation as attentiveness. It was a rare petitioner who resisted the urge to draw back, but Edgar Wyndham stood his ground with perfect calm.

"And what might be those... _interests_... you believe we have in common?"

Wyndham's smile was a thing of sharp teeth and fell humour.

"Power," he said simply.

"Indeed," said Victor Von Doom.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Notes:**__ I generally use Marvel Cinematic Universe versions of characters as models for my fic. In the case of Dr. Doom, I confess I just don't have the intestinal fortitude right now to watch the Fantastic Four movies again. Also, I seem to recall there wasn't a whole lot in terms of character development for Doom in them anyway. So the Doom in this story is kind of cobbled together from other fanfic and a few impressions I picked up on various Internet sites. I apologize to readers out there who are big fans of Doom. _

_I considered cutting or at least heavily editing the actual television show appearance, but decided not to since it provides a little background on this universe's Avengers, and also because I figure there's no point worrying about my own self-indulgence at this late date in the series._

_**Warnings:**__ None needed yet. Except for a little melodrama, because there's at least one character I see as definitely melodramatic. _

**Chapter Two**

"Agent Coulson said there was little cause for concern," Loki said, as he chopped vegetables on the kitchen counter, "but I cannot help feeling there must be something, well… _wrong_ with me, that I should apparently experience anxiety when I tell the _truth._ What sort of ridiculous being would feel so?"

Annie leaned against the far end of the counter, turning a mug of cold tea in her hands as she watched Loki work. Her expression was rueful.

"You're asking _me_ that?" she asked. She glanced down at her tea, made a face, and stepped forward to pour it down the sink. Loki edged aside to permit her to do so. Annie set the empty mug in the sink, then put an arm around Loki's waist and leaned into him as she continued to consider his question. "I don't know, Loki, maybe the kind of _being_ who feels like they always have to protect their real selves from other people. Who's learned to be afraid of what other people might think of or do to them if they ever let the truth out." She paused, and in the momentary silence both of them thought about times and places when it had not seemed safe to be themselves, or let anyone else know them. After a moment, Annie went on, "Whether their fears are real or not."

Loki turned a little and pressed his lips against her dark curly hair. When he let go of Gungnir, and his family, and Asgard, Loki had believed himself the most forsaken being in the Nine Realms. In fact he was not so abandoned as all that, never had been, and the place in which he landed was proof of it. The little pink house on the terrace had turned out to be a sanctuary, a place of help and healing. The other occupants of the house, Mitchell and George, knew what it was to hide the truth about themselves, in their case for the entirely practical reason that such revelation would lead to disaster for themselves and their kind.

Annie, who in the beginning had not even been visible to ordinary human eyes, had rather less present-day experience of such lies and self-protections. Her past, her human life, had been a different story. Like Loki, she had hidden herself away behind a mask of what she thought was wanted of her. Like Loki, she had been partly mistaken, had concealed herself from those who truly loved her and would have dearly wished to know and love the self behind all those protections.

Like Loki, however- and to a far greater extent- Annie also concealed her true self from one whose intentions toward her truly were dangerous. Unlike Loki, she really had fallen victim to the enemy who insinuated himself into her life, and so embarked upon her time as a spirit.

Loki's antagonists, unlike Annie's, had mostly been motivated by the desire to protect and support his brother rather than any specific malice toward himself- he had simply not counted to them. When Thor extended a hand in love and reconciliation, his friends respected his wishes, and all parties were now attempting together to bridge the resentment, anger, and (on Loki's part, at least) fear that had separated them for so long. It had begun with everyone hiding their real selves behind protective masks of their own, but of late the gestures were real, the effort genuine.

It was still being a rather a long business, but then the prior state of affairs had taken centuries to get to the stage when a final blow to Loki sent him spinning out of control. It was only to be expected the repairs would not happen overnight, either.

That being the case, now Annie made him think about it, Loki supposed there was no surprise in some lingering reluctance to reveal anything true about himself, even here on Midgard where very few had ever wished him harm. It was regrettable, but did not have to be permanent. He simply had to keep trying.

With that settled in his mind, Loki now turned to the other worry he had carried home from California.

"Thor was… rather peculiar as well, for a moment," he said, as he set down his knife on the chopping surface.

"Thor?" asked Annie, her face reflecting her alarm. She knew very well how much Thor's newly-won regard, his recently-recovered affection, meant to Loki. It was plain she had misunderstood Loki, or rather he had worded it badly, had made her believe there was some connection between this comment about Thor and his prior ones about truth-telling and anxiety.

"Not toward me," Loki said hastily. "Or at least not exactly. But… in telling his false story, Thor made use of the film about the ring quest, and we were joking about it when he, when he referred to the scene in which the sorcerer Gandalf fell… He suddenly became very upset. I had no idea- "

Annie pursed her lips, looking very thoughtful, and finally admitted, "Jane mentioned that."

"Jane did? When?" Loki asked in surprise.

"At Christmas. She took me aside, sort of woman-to-woman, you know? She wanted to know whether you still dreamed about, about falling."

Loki frowned in realization as he said, "I never have. But- are you telling me Thor _does?"_ He had known this already, Loki suddenly realized. Thor had told him so, the time when Loki had visited him in New Mexico. Loki had assumed Thor was speaking of the past, of the time when Loki had been lost in the void, when his mother and brother- but not his father- believed him dead.

Annie nodded. "Jane asked me not to tell you, but… yeah. He loves _Fellowship of the Ring_, but the thing about Gandalf upset him a lot the first time he saw it. I see it still does, sometimes. According to Jane, he's never stopped dreaming about your fall."

Loki bit his lip, thoroughly ashamed of himself. "All those years I believed him an insensitive brute- "

Annie shrugged. "All those years he believed you never felt anything except jealousy and malice toward him. You were both wrong, and now you both know you were wrong, so don't hurt yourself about it."

"Why would you not tell me this?" Loki asked, trying not to sound accusing.

"Because Jane asked me not to," Annie replied gently. "Thor didn't want you to know. There was nothing you could do, and talking to Jane about it was probably as good for him as talking to you. Better, really, because the last thing he wants is to make you feel guiltier about that time, or make you have bad dreams yourself." Loki, who sometimes confided things in Annie instead of admitting them to Thor, had to concede the truth in her words.

Annie looked curious. "You really don't dream about it? About falling?"

Loki shook his head. "Not since my very early days here. I think… the first night I spent on the sofa, I might have awakened a time or two with the feeling I was still falling, but never since. When I have bad dreams they are about the cold, never the void."

"I wonder why that is?" Annie said.

Loki went back to chopping vegetables as he thought. "At a guess," he finally ventured, "it must have been Father's spell. He sought to, to protect me, so that I would not be irreparably harmed by the consequences of my own actions." Loki felt his mouth twist as he contemplated how little he had deserved such consideration.

Annie looked stern. "Which turned out well for more than just you, didn't it? The fact you arrived here on earth able to understand you had done wrong, and wanting to make up for it? Stop with the guilty face, or it's the spray bottle for you." Loki, in some relief, obediently adjusted his expression. Annie softened as she went on, "So it makes sense the spell would have protected you in more ways than one. But Thor didn't have that, or anyone to talk to aside from Jane. He wouldn't have added to your parents' worries, any more than you used to want to worry them."

"I used to want not to make them lose patience and say outright that they did not love me," Loki replied bluntly. "I was not exactly motivated by concern for their feelings."

Annie shrugged. "And they were pretty careful not to have to face the fact you were unhappy, even though they knew it, so you're even. Anyway, Thor didn't want to worry your parents, and probably not to give his Asgard friends anything else to hold against you. He could talk to Steve, if he wanted to, but I guess he hasn't figured that out yet. And maybe Steve still doesn't talk much about his own bad dreams- we had to corner him to get him to admit it to us- Anyway, that leaves Jane."

"Thank the Norns for Jane," Loki said, with sincere feeling. "But… but now he has revealed his distress to me, or at least in _front_ of me. It is therefore reasonable that I should bring it up to him when next we are together, is it not?"

"Seems fair to me," Annie agreed. "Just be gentle about it."

"I will," Loki promised.

~oOo~

Victor Von Doom sat in his private apartment, gazing into the fire and distractedly sipping Scotch from a heavy cut-glass tumbler. His guest had long since departed, leaving Doom with much to think about.

_"My kind represent the evolution of humanity, and we intend to take our rightful place as their rulers."_

_"And why have you not done so before this? Why ask my aid?"_

_Edgar Wyndham's thin face twisted._

_"Treachery," he said._

Treachery. Doom knew of treachery (his fingers traced the scars on his cheek) knew the price he was willing to pay for retribution. Wyndham's kind would pay such a price, but that would be as nothing compared to the payment they exacted in return. His kind were known to Doom, from stories told in the dark of winter, creatures of the shadows.

_Treachery._

It was the old story, old as time, of one brought into their fold, trusted as a friend and comrade _(Richards)_ who then turned betrayer. Allied himself with the enemy, with creatures who connived at the destruction of their rightful masters, with a powerful near-immortal whose loyalties should have been recruited to Wyndham's banner. Faithless, treacherous, deceitful…

The tumbler cracked in his grip, and Doom set it down on the table at his elbow.

_"They are as cattle," said Edgar Wyndham, "and we shall be their masters."_

_And who,_ Doom now thought, _will rule the rulers?_

He picked up his cracked tumbler and gazed through it, thoughtfully, at the flames.

~oOo~

The following week, Loki and his friends made several trials of his ability to guide them together through the branches of Yggdrasil. In the past, when Loki went world-walking he went on his own- even had he been inclined in the old days to invite his brother or Thor's friends on such excursions, they would have been unlikely to trust him. Annie was a different story, and had been his first companion on his travels, but as a ghost she had presented little difficulty. Adding a full-sized werewolf and vampire to the party was another matter, particularly considering the low levels of ambient magic present on Midgard.

They could, of course, have asked Tony to send an aircraft for them, as he was nothing if not generous. Flying in that way from Bristol to Malibu would, of course, have taken quite some time. It would also have led to the potentially risky situation of attempting to navigate airports and international borders as a party consisting in part of a ghost and a vampire. Tony had understood the difficulties when they were spelled out to him during a Skype conversation. Indeed, he had looked rather wistful when Loki explained his plan, which was endorsed by Director Fury- who had little desire to expose any of his valuable British associates to border authorities.

Loki and his friends, under a glamour, made several short hops around Bristol- from home to the train station, from there to the library- to ensure everyone grasped the principles involved. Then, the night before the taping of the show, they delivered the spare house keys to their friend Agnes Scott, who had agreed to care for their pets. Then they all joined hands, and Loki led them into the branches of Yggdrasil.

They emerged in the large, bright sitting room of Tony's Malibu house, causing their host to yelp in surprise and drop a glass of Scotch. Loki reached out with hasty sorcery to catch the heavy glass tumbler before it hit the marble floor. The tumbler righted itself in the air and floated back to Tony. It did not even spill any of the amber liquid.

"Christ, Loki," Tony said, clutching his arc reactor with one hand as he accepted his drink back with the other. "Can't you give a person a _warning_ before you do something like that? Tinkle a little silver bell, or something? Good to see you all," he went on in the same breath, breaking into a warm smile. "Can I offer you a drink?"

The next few moments were occupied with greetings between Loki, his housemates, and the assembled Avengers. After this they were shown to the bedchambers they would occupy. Loki and Annie's was bright and airy, with glass doors that opened upon a balcony commanding a view of the Pacific. Loki glanced around, trying to keep a question off his face, but Tony saw it.

"This isn't the room we put you in, that time," his host said quickly. "That one's at the end of the hall, and it doesn't have a balcony." Tony hesitated. "Do you want to see it?"

Loki opened his mouth to demur, to say it was unnecessary- and then heard himself replying, "If you would not mind."

Tony led the way down the hall and opened a door. Loki and Annie peered inside, to find a perfectly innocuous guest room, well-appointed and clean, with dark furniture and white linens. Loki edged through the door, stood inside for a moment, heart hammering.

"This is the room you brought me to," he said unnecessarily, mostly to break the silence. "After… SHIELD."

"Yes," Tony replied, and after a brief hesitation went on, "And… and locked you up in, when you woke up and tried to escape." _I'm so sorry_ was not uttered, but it was there to be heard.

"After you rescued me from SHIELD," Loki repeated. "Or rather, from the creatures who had secretly taken control of SHIELD, and who captured and tortured me. I could not understand what was happening, was not in my right mind when I woke, and so I tried to escape. There is no telling what harm I might have come to, if you and the other Avengers had not contained me."

Tony said nothing, no more did Annie, and Loki continued to look around the room. After a moment he went a pace more toward the centre of the floor.

Now he was inside, he remembered a little. He had been restrained, and Thor had stood here, where Loki did now- though Loki had not recognized him, not then- making noises Loki could not understand, had been unable to realize were meant to comfort and reassure. Then he had held Loki engulfed in his huge arms while Pepper Potts had done something incomprehensible to his shackled wrist. A moment later, Loki had been free- terrified and irrational, but free, and just capable of realizing it was really Thor who had freed him.

Thor had released him from the shackle, but Tony had rescued him from SHIELD, though he had been too far gone to realize it. Tony, though he hardly knew Loki at the time, had worried for him, had feared some connection between Loki's disappearance and the confiscation by SHIELD of a piece of technology designed to confine magic. Tony had investigated, asked Agent Coulson for assistance, and when they learned what was being done to him they had wasted no time in coming to his rescue.

Loki could vaguely remember being terrified in this room, but more than that he now could feel the emotion most appropriate to the whole incident. He turned to Tony.

"I cannot remember whether I ever thanked you, for all you did for me at that time- " Tony made a deprecating, embarrassed gesture, but Loki was not to be gainsaid. "I should have expressed my gratitude long ago. Thank you."

Blushing, Tony mumbled, "Glad to do it. And that there was something I _could_ do, after everything."

"You bore no blame for what happened to me," Loki reminded him. "But I am very glad you were so willing to come to my assistance." Undeserving as he was, Tony had provided help to him, again and again. Loki smiled at his friend. "Thank you for letting me see this room. And for everything else."

"You're welcome," Tony muttered, and led them back down the hall to join the others.

When they returned to the sitting room, they discovered most of the group had gathered on the sofas and were engaged in a lively discussion of the concert they were all to attend the night after the taping of the program.

"How can you _possibly_ never have heard of Bruce Springsteen?" Clint was demanding of Steve. "You're _Captain America."_

"I don't know- maybe because I spent the last seventy years in a deep freeze?" Steve retorted. It did Loki's heart good, to hear the captain refer so lightly to his icy imprisonment. Steve went on, "And it's not like I've been making a study of modern music since I woke up. There's a whole lot of it that's news to me."

"It's true," Tony remarked in amusement. "Just last week he discovered this great singer called Elvis Presley. I'm sure he's going to have a big career."

Loki had no idea what the Midgardians found so funny, but Steve's face became very red as the others laughed.

"Well," Steve muttered, "I don't know any of the musicians you all like. Bucky and I used to go out to bars sometimes when there was live music, but I suppose nobody nowadays has ever heard of the singers we liked." He looked regretful. "Which really is too bad. I remember a blues player who was wonderful- called himself Lead Belly. He'd play sometimes with a folk singer from Oklahoma, a guy named Woody Guthrie. I wish you could have heard those guys." Catching sight of Clint's open-mouthed expression, Steve broke off. "What?"

"Did you say _Lead Belly?"_ Clint asked, rather faintly.

Steve nodded, clearly aggravated at this mockery. "Obviously that wasn't his real name, it was just what he called himself. His name was actually- "

"Huddie Ledbetter," Tony chipped in, also looking rather stunned. "You _saw_ him?"

_"And_ Woody Guthrie?" Clint added. "In _person?"_

"Yes," said Steve. It was apparent from his expression that he had begun to understand his friends were not making sport of him after all, but he was still confused. "They used to play at different places around Harlem. The first time I heard Guthrie, he'd just written a new song I really liked, sort of a response to Irving Berlin's 'God Bless America'- "

"'This Land Is Your Land,'" Clint interrupted.

"Yes," said Steve. "You've heard of it?"

Clint stared at the captain for a long wordless moment, and then blurted, "Can I _touch_ you?"

The whole thing was very mysterious, but Clint did not seem to be making an improper suggestion. And it was clear that Steve had somehow redeemed himself with reference to his knowledge of Midgardian music. Resolving to ask Mitchell to explain it all later- Mitchell seemed to know the same bards as Clint- Loki caught his brother's eye and inclined his head toward the glass doors leading to the balcony outside. Thor, having no knowledge of and little interest in Midgardian musicians, followed Loki outside.

By now it was evening, and a breeze had begun to blow from the sea toward the shore, carrying with it the smell of salt water and the cries of seagulls. Loki walked to the low glass wall that ensured no one fell. Resting his hands on it, he leaned forward to look down. Behind him, Thor moved restlessly, and Loki wondered exactly how long he had been ignoring his brother's obvious discomfort on this front. Although, of course, there were few enough opportunities for Loki to lean over steep drops in the course of his usual life in Bristol.

"Has Agent Coulson spoken to you any further about curbing Tony's enthusiasm tomorrow?" Loki asked casually.

Thor shook his head. "No, but Jane showed me recordings, on the computer, of the program on which we are to appear. I believe Coulson is correct in his belief its host will not seek to discompose anyone. She seems a very pleasant mortal indeed."

"That is good," Loki said. Leaned out again, saying, "I wonder if Tony ever sees sea animals from this vantage point? I would very much like to see a whale." Thor moved closer, not leaning on the wall but near enough Loki to seize him if anything gave way.

Without looking at him, Loki said conversationally, "I never dream of falling." He sensed Thor going very still beside him, and went on quietly, "You would expect such an experience to haunt my sleep, but it never does. I dream of being cold and alone, sometimes when I am anxious. And of, of the things I did to you and to Jotunheim- although less often lately- but never about my fall. I have a theory about that, brother."

"Oh?" Thor prompted, edging a little closer. Loki turned his head to smile at him.

"Yes. It seemed, when I let go, that I was losing everything: my home, my family, my…self. And yet, what actually happened instead was that I was given everything: a new home, the chance to make amends and try to repair the harm I had done to those I love, the chance to create a new self who can do more than hurt and be hurt, who is capable of choosing right and thinking of others, at least some of the time.

"I was afraid when I was falling, at first. And I do not deny the scouring was unpleasant, at least until I got used to it. But mostly it was strangely peaceful, except for the grief and regret I had brought upon myself. And the results were… far more than I deserved, or could ever have hoped for. It was Father's attempt to save me from my own folly. It turned out to be the best thing that ever could have happened to me." Loki's mouth suddenly twisted into an involuntary grimace as he went on, "After the things I did, I did not _deserve_ to be… any of it. I should have, should have… but instead of what I deserved, Father gave me… let me… Do not be distressed by my fall, brother. Please. I can see it was a terrible thing for you to witness and to think about, but it also led me directly to every happiness I now possess, including the ability to appreciate _your_ value as you deserve."

Thor said nothing, but put a big hand on Loki's shoulder. Loki reached up to pat it, and the brothers stood for a while, looking over the sea.

~oOo~

The following morning Tony was to drive himself and the other participants to the television studio for the "taping." At breakfast, he reiterated a prior invitation to Loki's housemates to attend the event with them.

"You could hang out with Coulson, if you'd rather not be in the audience," he suggested.

"If we'd rather not make the viewing public wonder why there are two empty chairs in the audience, you mean," Mitchell said cheerfully, as he served scrambled eggs to George and Loki. "Thanks, Tony, but we're already pushing our luck by coming to the concert tonight, without risking some sort of backstage camera action at a television studio."

"Do you really think the concert is too much of a risk?" Loki asked. "We could go home this afternoon, if you prefer."

All three of Loki's housemates looked horrified at the suggestion.

"Oh, no," George said firmly. "We're _definitely_ going to see Springsteen."

"If there's time between the taping and the concert, someone is going to have to explain 'Springsteen' to me," Steve remarked, as he helped himself to eggs.

"He's the most overrated rock star on the planet," Tony said helpfully, with a sly glance at Clint.

Clint pointed a knife at him. "Fighting words, Tin Man."

"Eggs, Clint?" Pepper offered cheerfully, holding out the serving dish.

~oOo~

Thor was correct in his assessment of the television host: she was indeed a most pleasant mortal, a slender woman with very short blond hair and very bright blue eyes, wearing trousers, a casual shirt, and bright-red canvas shoes.

"Hi, I'm Ellen," she said, embracing Tony and turning to the other three with a friendly smile. "I'm really glad to have you on the show." There was something familiar about her voice, Loki thought, but he could not for the moment place where he had heard it. "I think we're all going to have a lot of fun today."

"I hope so," Steve said courteously. Then he looked hesitant. "There's something about your voice. I feel like I should know it."

"I, too," Loki spoke up. "And I apologize, but I am quite sure I have not seen your program before."

Ellen smiled and said lightly, "Well, have you seen _Finding Nemo?"_ Her tone made it clear this was a joke.

Loki's eyes widened. "Yes. _Yes._ You were- ?"

"The blue fish!" Steve blurted, looking delighted. "Dory!"

"Steve is interested in animation," Loki explained. "I… just liked the story."

Ellen stared at them, and then broke into a wide smile. "I think we're going to have a _lot_ of fun today."

~oOo~

Ordinarily, Doom would not concern himself with anything so trivial as a _television program._ However, he made a point of keeping track of the activities of his enemies- the _Fantastic Four,_ the _Avengers_ (such self-aggrandizing appellations!)- and was ever alert for changes to routines, any sign of weakness.

It was hardly surprising the fools were willing to demean themselves in such a fashion, acting as mountebanks for the amusement of the rabble. Ordinarily, he would have ignored the event. However, the meeting with Edgar Wyndham had been most interesting, providing as it did the name of not only the traitor, John Mitchell, but also of his collaborator, one who should have known such capers were beneath him. Who should have been the ally of those deserving of power over the mortal insects.

Victor Von Doom was familiar with mythology, of course. Now he gazed into his scrying bowl, to see both the ridiculous _superheroes_ and also the creature who should have been their enemy, should have been sworn to oppose them and their ridiculous workings:

Sly One.

Most-Cunning.

Father of Strife.

Breaker of Worlds.

Loki, God of Mischief.

~oOo~

There was always interest in tickets to this program, but when the rumour went around that Iron Man was scheduled as a guest, naturally demand rose exponentially. By the time Captain America and the two Norse demigods were confirmed as joining him, the audience was already set. Most of the ticket-holders were first-timers, and so did not question the unusually large number of production assistants moving purposefully about, with Bluetooth devices in their ears. Everyone apart from the audience members was, of course, quite aware the "production assistants" were actually nothing of the sort.

The host, this Ellen, was patient with the intruders and retained her friendly demeanour. However, she was very firm that no "security issues" be permitted to interfere with the fun had by her audience.

"I get that you need to maintain a certain amount of control here," she told Agent Coulson backstage, "but I really don't think four superheroes are in a whole lot of danger from a bunch of tourists from Nebraska and Idaho. So if you don't mind, I'll be running my show the way I run my show. All right?" Agent Coulson politely bowed to the apparently-inevitable, then took up a station just off-camera and out of Ellen's direct line of sight but in that of Loki and the others. The production assistants were less obtrusive, if no less vigilant.

~oOo~

_Mountebanks. Clowns. Fools._

Doom watched in the scrying bowl as the human woman prattled at the dolts hanging on her words. A few jokes, some foolish dancing, and then the introduction of her _guests._ Tony Stark, dark and oily, in a suit whose tailoring would not have disgraced Doom himself. A moment after came Steve Rogers, in khaki trousers and a sport coat, his expression sheepish, little better than the oafs he was here to amuse.

After him- Doom could feel it through his magical conduit, a wave of such _power_ he nearly gasped. Walking together, one sunny and golden, in enchanted armour, red cape fluttering. The other dark-haired, slender, dressed to imitate a simple human in blue- faded trousers, darker shirt- and a leather jacket. Both wearing expressions of innocent goodwill, as if they were _interested_ in the clods before them, willing to befriend, to _entertain_.

Between them they held enough power to destroy the building and everyone in it, to bring the city to its knees. And the foolish humans showed no sign of the rightful terror, the _awe,_ they should feel in such presence.

There was no whiff of intent to take their rightful place, to demand it. Perhaps that could be excused in the golden god- excused, if not understood or rightly forgiven.

But the other, the one with chaos shimmering under his skin- That one should not be _tame._

Such power should not be wasted on the undeserving, and this creature had forfeited his right to it. Something must be done.

Doom leaned forward, still gazing into the bowl.

_Something must be done._

~oOo~

"Can you tell us how the Avengers were formed?" Ellen was asking. "Iron Man seemed to be a solo act for quite some time."

"And now I'm part of a boy band," Tony joked, to laughter from the studio audience. Loki, sitting two seats away, was amused to see how neatly he held everyone in the palm of his hand. Truly, it was well that Tony Stark had chosen to use his considerable powers- of which his personal magnetism was hardly the least- for good instead of evil. He would indeed have been a formidable supervillain, had he the inclination.

Tony was still talking, easy and comfortable: "Well, the funny thing is, my old man was a friend of Steve's, back in the day." He glanced at Steve, beside him, with a smile. "He never gave up looking for him. Used to fund an expedition every year to look for his plane, actually, and we- he and I and Obie- he and I," Tony's expression went wooden for a heartbeat as he censored himself- "used to wait to hear their news. He never gave up hope, you know? And after he died, I kept on sending the expeditions. By then, I don't think I really believed there was anyone to find- sorry, Steve- "

"It's okay," Steve shrugged, looking impossibly handsome and understanding and kind.

"But I knew Dad would never have given up, so… And then a couple of years ago… "

"There I was," Steve said quietly. Tony fell silent, and Steve glanced at him before going on, "It took a while to revive me, nearly as long as it probably did for anyone to believe I was really… well, nobody thought they were looking for a live person, after all. I spent some time in a… government facility, debriefing and so on."

"That doesn't sound like very much fun," said Ellen, with genuine sympathy that found its echo in the murmurings of the audience.

"Well, it wasn't," Steve agreed. "Although really, I had no idea what to do with myself, anyway, so at least tests and interviews gave me something to think about.

"And then, about ten days after I woke up, I was on my way back to my quarters from the gym- I spent a lot of time in the gym- "

"Still does," Tony spoke up. "Although you'd never know it by those arms."

Steve let the laughter subside before he went on, "I came around a corner and there was Tony. It was… he doesn't look _exactly_ like Howard, but there was enough of a resemblance to really throw me. And then he started talking." Steve, Thor, and Loki all began to laugh. Tony fumed theatrically, and Steve went on, "So he introduced himself as Howard Stark's son, and the next thing I knew he'd invited me to stay with him until I could find myself a place and… catch up with things. From there, it was a pretty short step to working together."

"And then we got Thor on board," Tony went on. Ellen leaned forward to smile an invitation to Thor to join in.

"I had visited Midgard- Earth- some time previously," Thor said easily, "at which time I made friends to whom I wished to pay a visit. I was… made aware of the work Tony and Steve were doing to protect this realm, and I was invited to join them when I would."

"Even though you don't live on Earth?" Ellen asked, interested rather than argumentative.

Thor smiled. "As I say, I have friends on this realm. And my brother lives here- I had been visiting him before I renewed those other acquaintances." He glanced with a smile at Loki, who sat between himself and Steve.

Agent Coulson was correct that Thor was not an especially plausible liar, but in this case he spoke nothing but the truth- merely a selective version of it. The four had discussed it among themselves the previous night, how to speak of Loki's role within the team. They did not lie, exactly, but they certainly did not tell all of the truth.

"Loki? How did you-?" Ellen prompted.

Loki gave her his best smile. "Oh, I am the younger brother. I have been tagging along after Thor since I began to walk." Thor cuffed Loki affectionately, and Ellen and her audience laughed.

However, she did not entirely let the matter drop.

"Is it unusual for someone from, from Asgard, to go to live on another planet like that?" she asked. "I mean, you're a prince, right?"

"Right," Loki agreed, all amiability. "The younger prince. Rather like Prince Harry of England, if you will. I have rather more freedom of activity than my elder brother, and anyway it seemed well to our father the king to strengthen ties between Asgard and Midgard- Earth- at this time."

"We were pretty glad to have you in New York last summer," Ellen remarked, to applause from the audience. Loki was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when she went on, "I was actually wondering- in mythology, the character of Loki is a shapeshifter. Is there any truth to- ?"

"There is," Loki agreed, and then added- quickly, before she could mention the horse- "although everything else in those myths is pure fiction." In the interests of accuracy, he added, "At least, it is fiction on _this_ realm. Stories travel, which means they are probably true somewhere else."

Ellen passed over this bit of metaphysics. She also seemed to have no interest in the horse, which made her nearly unique in Loki's experience of humans who read Norse mythology.

"So you can turn yourself into other- is it only other people, or can you- ?"

"I could turn myself into a rhinoceros, if I so desired," Loki replied solemnly. At his side, Thor sighed theatrically and murmured.

_"Always_ with the rhinoceroses, brother," which made the front rows giggle. Loki cast a sidelong grin at his brother and went on,

"I could only hold such a transformation for a short time- it takes considerable magic to turn into a shape significantly larger or smaller than my own. The other difficulty is, _my_ form changes- but my _clothing_ does not. Which presents several obvious difficulties- "

"It's not that kind of show," Ellen agreed, gesturing in mock alarm.

"Exactly," Loki agreed, smiling angelically.

"Is shapeshifting a common talent in Asgard?" Ellen persisted. "I mean, can Thor- ?"

"Sadly, no," Thor said.

"I hardly think anyone would _wish_ for him to take on any form other than his own, anyway," Loki remarked, playing to the front rows, which were appreciative. And then, since there seemed little harm in doing so- really, he was already known as a sorcerer prince from an alien world- Loki went on, "I am actually- you may recall, during the trouble in New York, that assistance came from one of the other worlds beyond your stars. From Jotunheim?"

"Yes, the great big blue guys," Ellen said brightly.

"Yes, well, I was born there. As a very small blue guy," he digressed, to the front rows again. "I lost my parents as a baby and was adopted into Thor's family. As a shapeshifter, I have taken on the form of those who raised me, but I retain certain talents uncommon among the Aesir."

"It's really interesting to find out adoption is a thing on Asgard, too- I guess I would have assumed our cultures were completely different," Ellen mused, focusing on the very thing Loki had hoped she would, and not on the giant blue aliens. She smiled quickly at Thor and Loki and turned her attention back to Tony and Steve. "Is that something the team has had to get used to? The different cultures?"

"Honestly?" Steve replied. "I sometimes find myself more confused by modern America than by Thor and Loki. I mean, I know I don't know anything about Asgard. Waking up and finding out the Dodgers had left Brooklyn was in some ways a much bigger shock than finding out there's life on other planets." He looked sorrowful for a moment, but rallied bravely: "Really, keeping up with Tony is… I'm really grateful Thor's on the team, because sometimes I feel like he and I are the only ones who are confused by, by modern times. We kind of take turns asking the rest of the team to slow down and explain things."

"Loki has less trouble?" Ellen asked.

"Loki is more intelligent- " Thor began, and Loki spoke over him:

"I live full-time on this realm, and generally make my mistakes in front of people other than the Avengers. Except when I attempt to cross the street here in the United States," he amended. "Then, it is sometimes necessary for someone to steer me by the elbow, in case I look the wrong way before stepping into traffic."

"Ordinarily, though," Tony began, "Loki can count on his girlf- "

Offstage, unseen by the cameras and behind Ellen's back, Agent Coulson hastily drew one hand in a slashing motion across his throat. Loki and Thor, fortunately, both understood this Midgardian gesture to mean "stop Tony," rather than "attack him with sharp blades." They scarcely needed the warning. It was, of course, possible Tony would let nothing slip that might alert Ellen or her viewers there was anything unusual about Annie. Still, as a target for friendly teasing and questioning, Loki's supernatural housemates were as poor a choice as could be imagined on a nationally-televised program.

Steve leaned hastily forward, saying, "I practically had to be led around myself at first, New York feels much _bigger- "_

Thor shifted in his chair, jolting Loki, and spoke up, "I, too, have difficulty with traffic- indeed, several times I have been run over- "

They were both drowned out by startled cries from the audience- Ellen actually stood up with a little shriek- as Loki's clothing collapsed in an empty heap on his chair.

Not _quite_ empty, as it happened. The shirt and jacket crumpled on the chair suddenly began to heave, and to emit an indignant _quacking_.

"Is that- ?" Ellen squeaked.

"Brother, _really,"_ Thor sighed, heavily patient, and lifted the garments to reveal the glossy green head of a mallard drake. Who quacked at him, and then fluttered his wings as he freed himself from the clothing.

"He's a duck," Ellen said, blankly at first, but then with an expression of dawning glee. "He just turned himself into a duck! A _duck."_

Thor lifted the duck onto his lap and said, "It could have been worse, I assure you. He was quite serious about the rhinoceros. Were you not, brother?" Thor crooned at the waterfowl, who reached up and gently nibbled on his chin.

"Your brother is a duck," Ellen repeated, looking delighted rather than startled or alarmed or any of the normal emotions that might be expected in the situation. "Does he do this often?"

"Loki is, as he explained to you, a shapeshifter," Thor pointed out. Patting his brother, he added, "And he occasionally likes to remind people there is more than one incurable showoff in our family." Loki fluttered his wings into a more comfortable fold and looked remarkably smug, for a duck.

"Would he let me pet him?" Ellen asked, and then looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, that was probably- "

Loki stood, then waddled over the chairs and laps between Thor's and Ellen's, flapping his wings to keep his balance- at least, that was what he would argue later, when Tony complained of a wingtip to the nose. He flapped up onto Ellen's lap, nibbled curiously at her shirt collar, and made a few charming little noises in his throat while Ellen stroked his back.

Thor sighed again. "Really, brother, you are shameless." Loki quacked, the front rows giggled, and Thor gathered the discarded clothing into a tidy bundle as he rose to his feet. "This has been most entertaining, but I think it time for you to regain your regular form. Come with me." Loki quacked defiantly, and Thor looked stern. "Loki." Loki quacked again, then fluttered off Ellen's lap to the floor. Thor smiled charmingly at his host and then her audience. "If you will excuse us for a moment- "

"I think this is a good time to go to commercial," Ellen agreed, but gestured to one of the mobile cameras to follow the brothers.

This later led to amusing footage of the God of Thunder pacing slowly down a corridor, a cheerfully noisy duck waddling at his side. Thor asked a staff member for directions to a men's toilet- the camera staying outside the door for obvious reasons- and his rumbling voice could be heard: "No, brother, you may not play in the sink. It is time to reassume your own form and get dressed. Leave my cape alone. Loki!"

They returned to the set to rousing applause, Loki looking a combination of sheepish and pleased with himself, Thor wearing the expression of all big brothers everywhere when they are unsure whether to cuff or embrace the culprit.

Thor's expression was entirely synthetic.

And somehow, the discussion failed to return to the matter of who normally assisted Loki when he found himself confused about aspects of Midgardian life.

~oOo~

The brass scrying bowl rebounded from the wall with a ringing clangor. Doom whirled away from the object he had thrown in his rage, and paced in his private apartment.

_How __dare__ he?_ To have such power, such abilities, and to _waste_ them with tricks to amuse creatures who should _cower _before him. To _protect_ such beings, as if they were of any more value than common brutes.

This could not stand. _Must_ not.

_Something must be done._

And then he remembered a throwaway comment the sorcerer himself had made:

_Stories travel, which means they are probably true somewhere else._

The question was, what _else_ might be true, somewhere else?

The brass scrying bowl lay on the floor where it had fallen. Doom picked it up.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Notes:**__ I'd intended to get to the swap in this chapter, but updates are coming pretty slowly as it is, and anyway it felt like the chapter would get unbalanced._

_I don't recall movie!Doom referring to himself in the third person the way comics!Doom apparently does (and I just don't have the strength to check right now), so if you all don't mind we'll save that trait in case he find himself ranting like a supervillain later in the story. I mean, that's probably a decent bet, yes? Also, Doom appears to have read mythology with his own distinctive slant._

_Also-last year, after thirty-two years of __wishing__, I was able to see Bruce Springsteen in concert. It was near as dammit to a religious experience, and I remember posting on Facebook that if Loki's portal had opened up at a show by the Boss, __**The Avengers**__ would have been_ _a shorter and much happier movie._

_**Warning:**__ In which Doom is frankly a creeper, in case anyone is bothered by non-specific mental voyeurism. Also, heroes can be arseholes. We haven't reached that point yet, but I just thought I should mention it. _

**Chapter Three**

"A duck_._ You turned yourself into a duck_._ On national television." Agent Coulson's voice was, as usual, without inflection, but Loki heard the rebuke and bristled defensively anyway.

"It served as a suitable diversion," Thor spoke up for his brother, before Loki had to.

"You _told_ me I should," Loki pointed out, self-righteously. Agent Coulson cocked an eyebrow. Loki insisted, "If there was an emergency- " he carefully omitted any reference to Tony- "calling for some sort of distraction. You told me I should turn myself into a duck, or something. You _said_ so."

Agent Coulson took a moment to recall the exchange, then folded his arms and looked stern. "Exactly how long have you been working at that elementary school, again?"

Loki looked around at the others for help. The group had gathered in Tony's workshop, under very strict orders not to touch anything- Mitchell of course had already provoked one of the little "bots" to chase him away from a workbench laden with mysterious artifacts.

Bruce, who had his head down on a desk and was uttering little hiccupping noises, finally looked up, his face tear-streaked. "And what kind of an _emergency_ was it, Loki?"

Tony looked shamefaced. "I was about to tease him about Annie. He's right, we definitely didn't want to open up that subject on a talk show. I'm sorry, I just didn't think."

Agent Coulson's expression was eloquent. After considering Tony for a long moment, he turned back to Loki, who tried not to fidget guiltily and then, in an effort to change the subject, asked,

"How is, how is your mother?"

"She's very well, thank you," Agent Coulson replied evenly. "I'll let her know you asked."

Jane looked around, decided perhaps it was a good moment to intervene, and said,

"Okay, Loki, if you're ready we can connect the sensors again and ask you to cast a little magic. All right?"

"All right," Loki agreed, gratefully following her over to the equipment.

~oOo~

Edgar Wyndham seemed quite at his ease on this visit, which Doom would have seen as a weakness had it not been for the calculation in the creature's eyes. Doom reminded himself not to underestimate this new confederate. He was so accustomed to dealing with ordinary puling mortal men and women, it would be easy to assume this Wyndham was on the same plane. Not, of course, that the creature was in any way Doom's equal. He was, however, _nearer_ that level than was the common clay.

Edgar Wyndham leaned back in his chair and held his crystal goblet up as if to admire the fire through the liquid in the glass. Not a glimmer of light was visible through the deep-red contents.

"You say you have a plan to remove the God of Mischief from the equation?" he inquired. "I should inform you, killing him will be no easy task. Despite the appellation he is indeed a form of mortal, but his magic is powerful, and his body extremely durable." Wyndham sipped appreciatively from his glass, watched the slow slide of the crimson fluid back down the side of the vessel as he tilted it upright, and went on, "Also, he has set defensive spells around the city where he dwells. Agents of mine who have attempted to… make contact… with him, or any of his usual associates, have encountered rather emphatic deterrents."

"Really?" asked Doom. "What sort of deterrents?"

Wyndham's smile was more of a poisonous grimace. "Rhinoceroses, apparently." At Doom's interrogative look, he explained, "If my underlings come too close, they are intercepted by enchanted rhinoceroses. If they retreat, the animals disappear, or at least remain placid. Attempting to get past them… does not end well."

Doom scowled- more frivolity. The idea of having sorcery enough to waste on such elaborate warnings, and _doing so,_ infuriated Doom. One possessing such powers should simply destroy any who challenged him, should instill awe and terror in those who might defy him. Doom remained calm, however, as he explained,

"My idea is not to kill him."

Wyndham's eyes were hooded as he remarked, "If you think to win him to our side, I can promise you will be condemned to failure. He appears far more addicted to the approbation of his brother the God of Thunder than to power over humans."

"My plan is not to recruit him. Or to kill him," Doom replied. Wyndham looked interrogative, and Doom smiled, a poisonous grimace of his own. "My plan is to _replace_ him."

~oOo~

"I'd still like to hook you up to an EEG," Tony said as he looked over the readings yet again, "but so far it definitely looks as if exercising your magic is the same as exercising physically. Huh."

"I hope the results are not disappointing to you," Loki murmured from across the cabin of the passenger jet.

"Don't be silly," Tony replied, without looking up. And then he did. "Actually, now I think about it, these readings are really interesting because they show just how… _connected_ your magic is to the rest of you."

"Well, yes," Loki said, puzzled. "But you knew that."

"I did, at least you've spoken of it, but you have to understand just how difficult it is for non-magical beings like humans to really get a grip on how that works. To really understand it."

"I suppose," Loki mumbled, trying not to think about the occasions when- as a result of either misunderstanding or malice- he had found himself in restraints which attempted to control his powers by draining them. He supposed that, at least on the first occasion, no actual harm had been intended.

Tony's expression made it clear he was thinking of the same events. "So those magic-draining devices SHIELD used on you- "

"The best analogy I can offer is, it was a feeling rather like bleeding to death, " said Loki, who had some experience with both sets of circumstances. "Accompanied by a sense of dizziness and disorientation, which became progressively worse the longer the restraints were employed." He did not bother to mention the generalized pain that had accompanied the second set of restraints- Tony already looked guilty enough. In fact- "And if you make that 'this was all my fault' face again, I will conjure a water pistol and shoot you with it."

"Mr. Pot, may I present Mr. Kettle," Mitchell murmured. Loki, who had lived on Midgard long enough to learn some of the local idioms, made a face at him.

Natasha looked up from her book- _Pride and Prejudice,_ Loki recognized the much-read paperback as belonging to Annie- and said,

"Okay, not that I'm suggesting anything, but let's suppose a magic user like yourself turned to a life of crime and had to be imprisoned in Asgard. Don't you make the face, either," she warned. "I'm just curious. I know a lot of your abilities aren't common in Asgard, but we all know your dad has magical powers, and I assume he's not the only one. How could a person like that be imprisoned? Would they have their powers taken away?"

Thor flinched far more obviously than Loki, and Annie looked as though she was seriously considering demanding her book back. Determinedly keeping his voice and expression calm, Loki explained,

"It is possible to set wards on a cell, which can restrain the prisoner without affecting his or her inherent magic. That course would be taken in cases in which someone is sentenced to a short term of incarceration. The wards would need to be reinforced regularly, of course, but no harm would come to the prisoner."

"Couldn't they just sort of bind his powers somehow?" Clint asked, his tone perfectly casual and mildly curious. He meant nothing by his question, Loki reminded himself. He merely wished to know.

"Yes, that can be done, although I believe the last time such a punishment was exacted was in the reign of Thor's and my grandfather," Loki replied, in a carefully even tone of his own. "It is effected by inscribing runes upon the body of the sorcerer."

"Palms of the hands, over the heart and the viscera, back of the head," murmured Agent Coulson, recalling what Loki had told him once upon a time.

"Yes," Loki agreed. "The effects upon the subject would be no more serious than, for instance, removing the liver and kidneys." He considered. "And also part of the brain."

"What?" asked Clint, genuinely startled.

Loki shrugged. "We have just been discussing the fact that magical powers such as my own are not some sort of, of _overlay_ on the person of the sorcerer. Disrupting them can only be done at the cost of some considerable harm to the possessor."

"You said there was a story about someone punished that way who died insane a few days later," Coulson said.

"Yes," Loki agreed. "More than one, actually, and they are not merely stories. That is what happens when the runes are carved or burned deeply enough to permanently bind the sorcerer's powers. Magic is… alive, shall we say. To some degree it is independent, though at the same time part of its bearer. Caged in such a fashion, it will turn upon the vessel in an effort to escape, and mind and body are generally unable to survive the insult."

"Christ," said Mitchell, eloquently.

"I should say, this is true of the sorcerers of the Nine Realms," Loki added scrupulously. "It may not hold true for magic users from other worlds. I recall that when they were held prisoner in restraints similar to mine, Dr. Stephen Strange suffered from many of the same effects as I did, whereas his wife, an alien from another dimension entirely, was simply unable to access her powers."

"What would happen if the runes were marked less permanently?" asked Coulson. Had he been anyone else, someone might have objected to the question, but they all knew better than to argue with Agent Coulson. "Not that I'm suggesting anything," Coulson added, after a pause. Loki, of course, knew that already.

"It would still be physically and mentally very harmful," Loki replied. _Harmful_ was one way of describing the results of such punishment. "It would lead, if not to death, then eventually to madness." Which, in Loki's opinion, was even worse.

He was unsure whether his openness on the subject would be seen as trust in the others, or an effort to dissuade them from experimenting on him to see what would happen.

He _knew_ they would not, of _course_ he knew it.

"Could a person recover from a punishment like that?" Steve asked, leaning forward with an expression of distress.

"It would depend on his condition when the punishment was enacted," Loki said, trying not to think about his own mental and emotional state at the time of all his own crimes. _If Father had made a different decision-_

Steve looked frankly horrified. "And this is _accepted?_ I mean, this is _done?"_

"No, not anymore," Loki said quickly. "As I say, the punishment was last carried out- in _any_ form- during the reign of Bor Allfather, when our own father was a small child."

Thor wore the pained expression of someone other than Tony doing mathematical calculations in his head- better him than Loki- and then explained, "More than three thousand of your years ago."

"The punishment was rarely carried out even then," Loki added- he had, for obvious reasons, a personal interest in such matters even before his descent into madness and crime, and had done the necessary research. "In the first place, sorcerers make up only a small proportion of the population of Asgard, and a correspondingly low share of the criminal class. And even when mortal- what you call _capital-_ punishments were still in use in Asgard- "

"Wait, they're _not?"_ Clint blurted, and then looked embarrassed at the expression on Thor's face.

Deciding the most tactful course was to continue as though Clint had not spoken, Loki went on, "- death in this manner would have been reserved for the foulest acts of treason- " _such as an attempt on the life of the heir to the throne-_ "in much the same way long-ago kings would sentence traitors to be hanged, drawn, and quartered." _That_ punishment had actually been in use in Britain within Loki's own lifetime, which was something for him to think about the next time he found himself brooding about his supposedly cruel treatment by Asgard. "The punishment existed in the reign of our grandfather, but the capital version was formally renounced on the grounds of its brutality. The less severe option was formally retained, but in practice has never been used since, again, because of its cruelty."

It finally occurred to Loki that his lingering sense of surprise that this punishment had not been meted out to _him_ was deeply insulting to his father. He cringed a little inside.

"Kind of like the way some places that later abolished the death penalty had the law on the books for years without ever carrying it out," Mitchell spoke up, glancing at Steve's still-doubtful expression. And then, to Loki's relief, he changed the subject entirely: "Anybody besides Steve and us not seen Springsteen before?" Everyone except Clint raised their hands.

Clint stared. "Are you _serious?_ Okay, you two, fine, I don't think he's ever toured Asgard, but the rest of you? I don't know about you British- "

"- and Irish," Mitchell murmured.

"- and Irish people, but the rest of you should have your citizenship revoked." Natasha scoffed behind her book. Clint looked frustrated. "I'm serious!"

"Sorry, Clint, I don't even know what his music sounds like," Steve said, half-apologetically.

"Over-rated," Tony repeated his earlier verdict. Loki, who had been rather looking forward to the event, began to wonder whether his anticipation was a mistake. He generally followed his Midgardian friends' advice on matters of their culture- the librarian at his school, for instance, was most helpful in the matter of reading material- and he trusted Tony.

"It sounds like he's decided not to give up today, either," George spoke up unexpectedly. Everyone looked at him. George shrugged. "It's what he sounds like."

"Yeah," Mitchell said, after a moment. "That's… exactly what he sounds like."

Loki began to think perhaps he was not wrong after all, to be so interested.

~oOo~

Loki and his friends made it home to Bristol just in time to change their clothes and hurry off to work, and Loki fell asleep in the supply closet just after lunchtime, but even so he would not have missed the concert for anything at all. It was, he thought, the first time Tony Stark had really tried to lead him astray in a matter of Midgardian life (Tony was fond of teasing, but there was nothing cruel about him, and he would not try to make any of his friends look really foolish.)

Although, really, Tony had looked as surprised as anyone when he found himself singing along to every song this Springsteen played- Loki was quite sure Clint would have words with him later on this matter and he was half-sorry he would not be on hand to hear them.

Aside from a disappointing lack of meadows (at a place called The Meadowlands, it seemed a reasonable expectation) and the slightly irritating proximity of a human who seemed to have a heavy cold and coughed repeatedly on Loki and Mitchell (Loki could have put up a forcefield, but suspected Agent Coulson would opine that he had drawn quite enough attention to himself in the past two days) there was little about which he wished to complain. Despite being nowhere near the ocean, Loki was aware all evening of a pervasive scent of sea air (and petrol, which was easier to explain and might have meant nothing) the indicated there was a kind of sorcery present. Loki had occasionally encountered naturally-occurring magic here on Midgard, but generally it was tied to a place, not a person.

It generally did not flow from one individual in great waves of goodwill, leaving any exposed to it feeling uplifted, somehow strengthened, and in a curious way… not alone.

On his way home from work the next night, Loki made a detour to a music shop and purchased every compact disc of Springsteen's music he could lay his hands on. One never knew when something like that might be needed.

~oOo~

Wyndham had long since departed to his own lodging, leaving Doom alone. This, curiously, was rather a relief. Ordinarily Doom had no objection to an audience when he conducted a working, but there was something about Wyndham that was… almost unnerving.

_Almost._

Banishing the nearly-uncomfortable thought, Doom focused on the smooth surface of the water within the scrying bowl, let his consciousness float there, settle, and finally drift below the surface-

- to other worlds.

Other dimensions.

Other realities.

The false, pathetic, _domesticated_ Loki of this world was not the only one of that name.

_Stories travel._

Stories of a Loki born of chaos, bringer of destruction, sworn to darkness-

A Loki of _unimaginable_ power.

Such a prospect was more than tempting- to bring such a force into this world, and have it under his control…

However, for every action, there must be a reaction. Doom knew that living creatures did not travel as stories could. To rid his reality of its pitiful excuse for a God of Mischief, he must needs find one different enough to be useful to him, but similar enough to permit passage into this world. The Loki of mythology was elusive, but even could he be found, there would be too few parallels for even the might of Doom to capture and transport him.

The wretched, tame Loki of this reality was easy enough to find, living openly as he did in debased squalor among the humans. There were magical wards set on the house, on the streets around it, but none on the sorcerer himself. He slept, and as he did, Doom was free to examine the corners of his mind, the shadowed places where his secrets dwelt.

There was little to interest Doom about the creature's existence in the world of humans- trifling concerns, petty interests and affections- but… farther back, in the darkness, Doom sensed things that might be of use. The mind around him stirred, shifting uneasily as Doom reached out, cautiously bringing to the surface-

Anger. Bitterness. Loneliness.

_Fear._

Doom paused to consider the fear. Those of duller wit might consider it a feeble emotion, label it _cowardice_ and so disregard it, but Doom was wiser. Doom knew the lengths a being could go, with fear as the lash. Given sufficient time, under appropriate conditions with the fear ascendant, every useful trait possessed by this creature might once again be brought to the fore.

On consideration, however, Doom was forced to admit there was even less to work with than Wyndham had suggested: as he held the sorcerer's dream-mind in his own, the bitterness and anger seemed to shiver and fragment, dissolving in his grasp. It was not that the emotions were _gone-_ in Doom's experience such emotions were always there, in every living- or, in the right circumstances, dead- creature. But these had little by way of an anchor, were memories rather than present emotions, and the sleeping mind of the sorcerer offered little ground in which they might take root once again.

They could be coaxed or compelled to return, they always could, but there was no way to predict the form or focus they would take. Confused and muffled by softer, useless traits, the anger and bitterness might even be directed, churlishly, against Doom himself.

No, there was nothing in this one he could be sure would be of use, and he was loath to waste his time and effort. Leaving aside the composition of the mind and soul, he began to sift through experience and actions, centuries of sharply-felt slights and specific incidents in the sorcerer's life, mostly at the heel of the one he called brother. Mounting desperation- once again muddied by those other useless emotions and so not worth trying to call forth- that led to drastic actions, one following the other.

A final outburst- Doom could still feel the mind shiver at the memory of its own fragmentation- and a long fall.

There was nothing of use after the fall- everything the sorcerer experienced after that had contributed to his current worthless state. The creature being of no further interest to him, Doom released it, and turned his mind to more productive paths.

Great patience was required, but Doom was great in all things, and Doom prevailed. For many hours he maintained his station, journeying across universes along paths of the mind, paths on which a lesser traveler would have been lost. He passed from one dimension to the next, steadfast in his quest, seeking out each reality's Loki and sifting through his memories for parallels with the Loki at hand. He found Lokis ascendant or imprisoned, Lokis bloated with power or scheming for it, bound Lokis screaming in torment, Lokis of frozen worlds with minds and souls of such strange contour that even Doom might have difficulty binding them to his purpose.

None of them bore enough resemblance to the Loki at hand to be of any use to Doom. Their minds were very different from the Loki of this reality, with little of his useless softness, but also different combinations of his other traits. Their experiences likewise did not match his, and so there was nothing to draw them into this reality, or for their dimensions to accept the one offered in replacement.

The effort of concentration was beginning to be a drain on Doom's energy, but he persevered. And, at last, he was rewarded: at the edge of his consciousness, he felt _something._ Something broken and exhausted and trapped, yes, but with a stubborn vitality and, just below the surface, anger that simmered, ready to return with the creature's strength. The shape of this mind felt just familiar enough, and Doom pressed further, reaching into its memory.

He saw the creature- in the shadow of a shining figure he both hated and loved- slighted and increasingly resentful. Saw betrayals dealt out and endured. Saw, with growing triumph, the same pattern of violent and desperate acts lead up to a final shattering, and a long fall. There was no shuddering effort in this mind to retreat from its own enormities, just a numb awareness of what had been, with the anger underneath it like an ember waiting to be fanned.

Nothing after the fall matched the experiences of the Loki to be cast out: no rescue for this one, no monsters posing as human to offer him comfort, no reconciliations or efforts to take back his rightful actions. He was instead a fugitive and refugee, offered no safe place anywhere, passing in and out of hands whose inventive cruelty was instructive even to Doom.

At length, inevitably, the lost sorcerer's strength and ingenuity failed him, and he came at last under the sway of a power he could not escape, no matter how his mind and will rebelled and fought. He was shaped into a tool, hammered into a sword- but also into a decoy, and for that indignity the creature felt rage. The rage did him no good, was directed down a path of another's choosing-

_Fire._

_Blood._

_Destruction._

Doom broke the connection as the final act played out- he had no interest in the assault that freed the sorcerer's mind as it imprisoned his body. He was filled with his own plans. This newly discovered Loki was superior to the present one in every way: his anger and malice were ready to be brought back to hand, yes, but even in the pattern of incident this Loki had much to recommend him.

It was true that neither Loki was entirely in command of his faculties in the time immediately preceding his fall, though the useless, soft Loki had probably been the less in control of the two. However, after the fall, the useless Loki's actions had been almost entirely his own. Others had influenced him, certainly, had offered him a pattern of behaviour, and perhaps in the beginning he was sufficiently feeble to simply follow it.

However, there had been no coercion, and certainly his strength and powers had long since recovered. His mind and his actions were his own, and the path he had chosen as well. With a return of ire, Doom reflected on the waste: capable of greatness, possessed of such powers, and the sorcerer chose to coddle humans, amuse himself with harmless mischief, ally with his so-called brother and the foolish heroes of this realm.

This newly-discovered Loki, however, had been _put to use,_ and where that had been done once, the opportunity existed to do it again. The useless Loki, if captured by Doom, would fight back in the expectation of rescue, of someone coming to find and help him. Doom knew full well the idiot heroes, as well as the monsters of his household, would do everything in their power to fulfill that belief. It was both remarkable and very irritating, how a being could hold on while hope lived.

This new Loki, by painful experience, knew full well that no rescue would come. Having been once broken to the harness of another's will, the pattern could be replicated. With experience in mind of being overpowered and put to use, and none of being rescued, he should prove far easier to… _persuade…_ even if he was for some reason inclined to resist.

Doom did not really think he would resist: the anger needed an outlet, and the new Loki would probably not be overly choosy of targets. It was likely a being with so little experience of allies would not see Doom as such, but Doom had allies enough in Wyndham and his people- more than enough, in fact. What they needed was a tool to aid them, and this Loki would serve the purpose admirably.

It was also rather amusing to think of the tame Loki finding himself in the place of the other, and no one coming to help him.

All that was needed was to construct the appropriate spells. The new Loki was at a low ebb indeed, and should be retrieved before he was too weakened to be useful. Once the spells were set, the soft Loki must be caught unawares, in case he fought back.

Doom leaned back from the scrying bowl, cast his eyes upon the leather-bound grimoires of his library, and began to plan.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Notes:**__ Because of the shape the setup is taking, I feel the need to assure you all that this story is __not__ going to turn into Stephen King's __**The Stand**__. Promise. Loki's condition in this chapter is partly to serve one element of the plot, and partly just to make him miserable. I mentioned characters who can be a little melodramatic. We meet another in this chapter._

_**Warnings:**__ None needed yet._

**Chapter Four **

"Loki? Are you all right, pet?"

Suddenly aware he had no idea how long he had been staring blankly at a shelf of cleaning supplies, Loki turned and attempted to smile at Carol, his supervisor and colleague. He opened his mouth to tell her he was all right, of course he was, when he was overtaken by a fit of coughing that made his chest hurt and sparks flash before his eyes. He barely remembered to smother the episode in the crook of his elbow, as was the custom here in Britain when one coughed or sneezed. _Vampire sneeze,_ the children called it. Loki had very little inclination to laugh at the appellation right this moment.

Carol, looking concerned, came closer, and Loki found himself backing away, arms folded across his chest and hands tucked protectively under his arms.

"I really think you should keep your distance," Loki advised anxiously. "I appear to have contracted... something, which may prove contagious."

"I should say you have," Carol agreed, her manner sympathetic rather than accusing.

"I really do not know how this has happened," Loki went on apologetically. "I have not had any illnesses since I came to this realm."

Well, if you did not count the extremely unpleasant aftereffects of being held prisoner while his magic was drained away, but that hardly counted as _illness._ And, of course, it had not been _contagious_.

"Well, it was bound to happened sooner or later," Carol said kindly, and still did not sound reproachful. "Little kids are real germ factories, and they'll cough all over you when they're not paying attention. Although I haven't heard of anything going around the school lately."

"Oh," Loki murmured, suddenly remembering the man at the concert. "I... I may have contracted this elsewhere. I have just recalled an incident."

"Well, I recommend you go home and plan to stay there until you feel better," Carol advised. Loki opened his mouth to protest, but had to cover it as another cough erupted from him. Carol made a shooing gesture. "Go along- we're entitled to sick days and you haven't taken any in... well, ever, as I recall."

Loki had, of course, taken quite a number of _abducted-by-super-powered-beings-or-secret-law-enforcement-agencies_ days, but apparently these were not counted as the same thing. Reluctant was he was to miss work, even a being as stubborn and unreasonable as Loki could understand the perils of exposing the staff and students of the school to his illness. He winced a little at the thought of how many people he might unwittingly have infected whilst traveling by public transit in the last day or so.

"Very well," Loki agreed. He smiled feebly at Carol, who smiled back but did not come any closer to him, and indeed discreetly retreated as he started toward the door.

"Lots of rest and hot drinks will fix you up," Carol prophesied. "It's probably just a bad cold."

She stepped back into the storage closet- probably to disinfect anything Loki might have already touched that morning. Loki walked down the hall and around a corner.

Then he pulled magic around himself like a comforting blanket, and in a moment he was home.

Annie, hoovering behind the sofa (having recently become possessed of telekinetic abilities, Annie used them almost exclusively to move large pieces of furniture, so that she- or one of her housemates- might clean behind them) let out a little shriek of surprise when Loki appeared in the entry hall. Scamp the ghost dog, who was sitting on the daybed supervising Annie at work, cocked her ears forward interestedly.

"I apologize for startling you," Loki began, at the same moment Annie, composing herself, switched off the Hoover and asked, "Did you forget something?" Then she looked more closely at him. "Wait, are you okay?"

"Not really," Loki muttered, muffling another small coughing episode with the cuff of his pullover. By this time the muscles in his stomach were beginning to protest. "Carol expressed the opinion I have contracted 'a bad cold.' I cannot have a _cold,"_ he protested. Vaguely aware that he was whining, he added, "I am the worst Frost Giant _ever."_

Annie's expression was one of sympathy warring with amusement as she stepped forward to lay a blessedly cool hand on the side of his neck. "From the looks of you I think it's probably flu, not a cold. Tell you what, why don't you lie down for a bit and I'll make you some tea. All right?"

"All right," Loki sniffled, feeling far too pitiful to even try to make himself look extra-pitiful for Annie's benefit. Annie smiled again and went out into the kitchen.

~oOo~

"I'd say definitely the flu," Nina announced later that evening, contemplating Loki with her head on one side and on her face an expression of commingled sympathy and amusement. "It generally only lasts a few days, at least with humans it does. I'm not sure course it might take with the kind of alien you are."

"I'm a little surprised your magic hasn't just squashed the virus already," George remarked, from the other side of the lounge. Loyal friend George might be, but he was not fool enough to place himself in close proximity to whatever germs Loki might currently be housing.

"I have been trying," Loki admitted, "but so far I seem unable to locate it to do anything of the sort."

"Well, I suppose even magical alien immune systems sometimes run into something they can't handle right away," Nina remarked, carefully cleaning the thermometer she had used to check Loki's temperature. (She had been seriously alarmed by the result of this examination, until Loki informed her that his normal body temperature was some degrees higher than a human's. Even so, it transpired that one of the reasons Loki felt so peculiar was the fact he was running a fever.) "And you never know, the person who infected you might have been a mutant or something." Reaching into her purse, Nina produced a small bottle of sanitizing gel and thoroughly scrubbed her hands. "I'd recommend you stay home until the fever goes away- if this is some sort of mutant strain of flu there's no telling what sort of effect it might have on humans." At Loki's stricken expression, she added quickly, "I actually checked to see whether there are reports of any sort of super-flu in the eastern United States, and I haven't found anything. It might be a special virus that doesn't affect humans at all, but there's no point taking chances."

"I agree," Loki assured her, wrapping the flowered quilt from his bed more tightly about himself. He had no desire whatsoever to inflict his suffering upon an unsuspecting human populace.

Nina favoured him with a friendlier look than was her custom- it crossed Loki's mind that, being a nurse, perhaps Nina generally felt most kindly toward other creatures when they were ill and in need of her assistance- and then passed the sanitizing gel to George.

"Maybe you and I should go along to my place for the evening," she suggested to him, which seemed fair even to Loki. Even apart from their understandable wish for privacy, Loki could not help but agree that his present coughing, sniffling mien was hardly an appealing- or romantic- prospect.

"Good idea," George agreed. He made an apologetic face at Loki- for no good reason, since Loki felt too wretched to even feel properly abandoned. "There's paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, if you start feeling too achey. It might help."

"And I think there's a packet of green tea in the kitchen somewhere," said Annie, who was good and loyal and Loki did not deserve her.

"Check the caffeine content," Nina advised. "He doesn't need that at the moment. If you've got any lemons, you can try making up a drink of half lemon juice, half boiling water, and some sugar. He might find that comforting."

"Good idea," Annie agreed.

Loki considered protesting that _he_ was _right here,_ but really he was far too miserable to wish to start an argument. Instead, he curled up into a smaller ball at the end of the sofa, which action caused him to create the effect of a most cozy cave and lured Philip and Elizabeth, the kittens, into the folds of the quilt with him.

Annie patted that part of his head still exposed to the elements, then assured Nina that she would take care of herself and also monitor Mitchell closely in case he, too, was harbouring this most unpleasant flu. Loki was visited by the envious thought that, being dead, Mitchell and Annie were almost certainly immune to such pestilence as had felled him.

Then the sound of purring in his little quilt-cavern lulled him into sleep.

~oOo~

With Edgar Wyndham a silent presence at the periphery of his awareness, Doom set the circle in which the working was to take place. The scrying bowl had shown him the desirable Loki losing strength as he lay in his shackles, adding a certain urgency to the situation. Meanwhile the detestable, tame Loki appeared considerably weakened as well, certainly incapable, for the moment, of fighting the spell- worthless he might be, but "worthless" did not mean "weakling," and Doom was far too wise to underestimate the creature's abilities.

There would be no better time to carry out the substitution.

Doom took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and began the ritual.

~oOo~

Loki slept- restlessly- on the sofa for much of the evening. His fidgeting finally irritated the kittens to the point that not even his attractively elevated body temperature could persuade them to remain under the quilt with him. He woke as Mitchell, newly arrived home, moved Loki's feet and sat down beside him.

"You look terrible," he announced. Loki aimed a feeble kick at him. Mitchell patted his ankle, but went on remorselessly, "No, really Loki, you look _awful._ I'm really grateful I'm already dead, myself. I'd hate to have a flu like that. Annie," he called toward the kitchen, "you should probably hurry with that tea, or he might not live long enough to drink it."

Loki pushed the quilt off his head, turning a bloodshot and hateful glare upon his friend. He had just opened his mouth to make some really cutting retort (although he had no idea what that was going to be)-

- when there was a sudden, blinding flash, and he was visited by a giddy, weightless sense of disorientation.

~oOo~

"My efforts are crowned with triumph," Doom announced, from within the circle.

"Then where is he?" Wyndham demanded, his thin malicious face darkening with anger and what might have been- were he speaking to one lesser than Doom- _threat._ "Prove your success."

Doom slowly turned toward his… ally… in a gesture that might well cause any to quail. Wyndham, his eyes sparking red in the candlelight, did not. After a moment, Doom deigned to respond:

"The spell was not intended to _bring him here._ Rather, it was meant to effect an _exchange."_

Wyndham raised an eyebrow. "And this is useful to us _how?"_ He stood his ground as Doom drew himself up, but after a moment said, in a more conciliatory tone, "Obviously, we must go retrieve him." A thought seemed to occur to him. "Which means I will almost certainly effect a reunion with my old comrade, John Mitchell." His mouth twisted into another of his bitter smiles. "That should be very amusing indeed."

~oOo~

The prisoner lay on his back, staring at the stone ceiling, the cot beneath him not much more yielding than the stone floor would have been.

The guards were changed three times a day, he knew that, remembered it from a former time when he had not been a prisoner. He could hear the marching feet arrive, others leave. He had kept count at first, in the time when his mind had been clear, and he counted thirteen changes of guard before he lost track.

Now he was unable to hold a thought long enough to follow it to its conclusion, and the dull pain in his head was all encompassing. He lay there as images drifted unchecked through his mind: memories, the twisting shape of thoughts he had not the concentration to control.

Thirteen changes meant four full days, in addition to the ones he had missed. More than four days, then,since he was dragged into this cell and had lain down on the cot. Four full days and he had not moved, nor had anyone entered. He still wore the battle-dirtied armour, his hands still bound, the metal gag that covered his lower face still digging into his jaw and binding his tongue to the floor of his mouth. He was vaguely aware of hunger, though the sensation brought nausea, and thirst was beginning to torment him. He could not remember the last time he had eaten or drunk anything, could not recall watching the body he occupied busying itself with cup or plate.

It did not matter.

His hearing had always been keen, and he heard the small portal in the door open at regular intervals, as the guards peered in to make sure he was still there. Once, he heard a light step, thought he recognized it, waited as it paused outside the door. Now she would be debating, wanting to do something, not knowing what. She would, he knew, convince herself there was nothing she _could_ do, and after a few moments' hesitation she would walk away. She always walked away. Perhaps, however, she would at least open the little portal and look at him.

He waited, watching the door, but the portal did not open. And then the footsteps went away, and he knew she had accepted her own helplessness, had forgiven herself the inaction, felt only relief now that she had convinced herself she _could not_ act, that there was nothing she could do.

He was alone.

It was a relief, really, to be alone. The voice, the one that had ordered and threatened and controlled, was finally gone, the body his own again. He remembered watching as the body was slammed into the floor of the lavish mortal dwelling, unyielding marble finally giving way under the power of the blows, and then- it was after his unprotected head had struck the stone for the third, or perhaps the fourth, time- he had stopped watching, had been present to experience the blows, had lain in the crater smashed by the impact of his body and had been able to feel the pain and the dizziness, alive to the cold hardness of the stone beneath his head, the weight of his own hands lying against his belly.

It had been wonderful, to lie there alone in his own body, watching the ceiling instead of watching himself watching, feeling the pain that engulfed him clearly, at first hand, instead of at a distance.

He had fought, when he realized what the Chitauri had in mind for him, had tried to push them away, retain control of his own mind and his own self, they were all he had- but in the end he had given in, as the archer and the scientist had so easily given in, and he had watched in helpless anger as, once again, he was put to use at the will of another.

He had wanted worlds to burn, or thought he did. When one is as angry as he had been, destruction seems the best way to release it- the green beast-man would understand that- and the Chitauri, their Other, had taken his anger away from him to use. They had taken his mind and his will and his body- had left only himself, the part that was of no use to anyone, to watch and sometimes claw at the invisible barrier that separated himself from what he was doing.

When one is that angry, destruction and death seems a release, until one actually sees it, watches oneself wielding it, and then it is only stupid empty folly.

Folly, all of it. He had recognized that long before he watched the one-eyed man make his threats to the sneering prisoner who wore his face, long before the Man of Iron had pointed out there was no throne, no way for him to win. The part of him behind the barrier, that remained himself, knew that, was aware that even if he did win, he would be a shadow ruler, and the things he wanted- childish things, as the Other had pointed out, acceptance and affection, to _matter,_ and to have control over what happened to him- these things would still never be his: he would be a puppet king, a _distraction,_ while the Tesseract was taken away by the Other, and his army followed after. He would be left as a symbol of the attack, and the focus of the victims' rage.

It was always going to come to this.

He fought against it because, as angry as he was he still did not want _this_, to be a weapon, once again nothing but a tool, to be picked up and set aside at the pleasure of another.

He fought against it, and once he nearly got free, for a moment. He remembered watching himself fight the prince of Asgard, and then suddenly seeing the face of his brother, right there before him, himself present rather than watching. His brother's face, next to his own, pleading with him: "We can defeat them together."

And it was his own voice that spoke, himself answering, "It's too late." _Flee_ could have been his next words, _Save yourself, you are needed, you have value_- the soft light footsteps would not have paused, if it had been his brother lying somewhere hurt and in need of assistance. He had known that, believed the mortal heroes as doomed as he was, had for a moment wished he could save the golden creature he so hated and yet still loved-

And then it was as if his head was pushed back underwater, and from far away he watched his body thrust the little dagger into his brother's side, and walk away with a scornful word.

_Sentiment._ The creature who had destroyed worlds for a word of love, sneering at _sentiment._ And yet the son of Odin took the word at its face value. It could have been a warning to _himself_, against once again allowing _wishes_ to get the better of him, to convince him to try yet _again_ to have things that were never meant for him, that he could never have…

The next time he surfaced, he was lying in the smashed crater on the floor. The governing voice was gone, all power gone, the scepter no longer subject to his control nor yet in control of him.

He had lain there a long time, vaguely aware his time was short, his already-slight chance of escape dwindling, but he was too tired, too hurt, too relieved to move. And so he lay there and knew that, at last, he and only he occupied his body and his mind.

After a while he made an effort, rolled onto his side and promptly succumbed to a wave of nausea as his head pounded and his vision swam. He vomited weakly, wet strings of bilious drool out of his empty belly, pain flashing down his back and limbs and engulfing his head. But when the nausea passed, he was still there, on hands and knees, still alone with himself, and he had felt relief so strong it was nearly gratitude.

There being nothing else he could do, at least nothing he could think of, he had waited for his brother and the others to come and capture him. He knew they would not listen, had no reason to listen- though they had welcomed back their archer and wiped his ledger clean- not even the one who called himself brother would listen, and he had rather face punishment with his head high than abase himself to their disbelief and scorn and then be punished anyway.

He had managed to utter one final little joke before they seized him, and for a moment he really feared he would show weakness by vomiting again or being unable to walk. Fortunately, his brother had him again by the throat, holding him upright and blocking his retching. He acquiesced to the chains that bound his magic and the gag that locked in the sourness, knowing that would be the least of his punishment.

And then he had waited in another cell for his brother to drag him… home.

He had finally come, he and his mortal friends, hours later, smelling foully of some sort of spiced meat- it would have been appetizing when it was fresh, but the pain in his head still caused him nausea, and he really feared he might retch into the gag and choke himself. It was not the fact of death he feared, so much as the utter degradation of dying in such a way, under the jeering eyes of his captors. He had held himself as aloof as possible, trying to breathe through his mouth despite the sourness of vomit on his tongue, the little air that got through the gag, so as not to smell the stale meat smell and lose his battle.

He had won, small victory though it was, and his brother had marched him before the mortals, paraded his victory as he would parade it in Asgard, face stony in his triumph, before he compelled the prisoner to place his own hand on the Tesseract in an act of submission. He had complied, there being nothing left to lose and no reason to fight: he would not be forgiven and excused as the archer and the scientist had been forgiven and excused. In a flash of blinding light and even more blinding pain, they had been hurled through space and back into the golden realm.

There had been no parade before Asgard, no one even to meet them except for the picked guards tasked with taking responsibility for the Tesseract. His brother had gripped his arm to hold him upright, marched him along as though he was unwilling instead of stumbling in exhaustion and dizziness. And really, it made no difference why he seemed recalcitrant, not when the semblance was all about him that had ever mattered.

And then he was in this cell, quiet and cool and mercifully dimly lit. The mercy was surely unintentional but he accepted it anyway, had lain down on the cot, and felt himself alone and still, submitting to the pain in his body and head.

He was without hope, and it was a liberating thing, to know at last that wishes and hopes were pointless and to let them go. He understood from the continued presence of the gag that no explanations, no excuses, would be permitted or tolerated, and he had not expected anything else. Someone would be punished for the destruction on the mortal world, and the Other was out of reach, would never be believed in anyway. The Other would be seen as an excuse, like the excuses offered by the others under thrall, only in this case to be mocked and rejected. He had known this would happen, had watched himself under thrall and had known that, since victory was impossible, the best outcome for him would be death

He lay and breathed and listened to his own heartbeat, counting the changes of the guards until he lost track, dimly wondering what could be taking so long. How could it take so long to determine a punishment? Had they decided to show him the mercy of simply letting him die here in peace, alone, of hunger and thirst and his injuries, instead of the public degradation and spectacle the golden realm must long for?

He had not expected the king or queen to come to him, but he had thought his brother would, finally able to lecture and demand and exhort without fear of response, of words he would have to take the trouble to shout down.

He had waited, but his brother had not come, and he finally realized the words of brotherhood, the pleas to return and rejoin and work together… those had been calculated, purposeful, an attempt to regain his trust, to placate and control. Now that he was confined and helpless, such control was accomplished and so his brother had no further requirement of contact with him, could now admit he no longer wanted it, perhaps never really had.

That being the case, it became a relief that he did not come, that no one came. He would lie here, and eventually he would die and be forgotten, and that would be peace.

When the light came he actually thought perhaps this was what death looked like: a light, a sensation of weightlessness-

- And then he was landing, crashing onto a wooden floor, looking around at the strange, shabby furnishings and realizing he was somehow back on Midgard.

There was a cry and a crash, and he jerked around, staggering even on his knees as the sudden movement gave him a giddy turn, and then the pain hit him again.

Standing in a doorway was a young woman with dark curly hair and wide brown eyes, and in front of her a mess of broken crockery and dark liquid. She stared at him in astonishment liberally mixed with confusion and horror, but almost no fear.

Stepping carefully around the mess on the floor, she extended a hand and said softly,

"Loki?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**Notes:**__ Yeah, I went with "Loki was not in control of himself during the attack on New York." That is partly because, as may be obvious by my stories, I tend to sympathize with all the Lokis all the time. It's also because, in my opinion, the plot of __**The Avengers**__ made no sense as a sincere attempt by Loki to take over the world, and that annoyed me considerably. Every after-the-fact explanation offered by the participants in the movie for the change in Loki's personality also- to me- pointed to some form of duress. And frankly, the implications of those suggestions- the idea Loki had been forcibly put to use by Thanos or the Other- struck me as pretty interesting when you consider how frantic Loki became, in __**Thor**__, at the belief Odin considered him nothing but a tool to be used. _

_The __**Avengers**__-compliant universe will reflect my impressions of the characters in the movie- and I saw them mostly as jerks. I know I keep warning for this, but I really don't want to blindside anyone for whom the plot and characterizations of __**The Avengers**__ worked. _

_Also, you see the chapters are getting shorter. It's partly that I'm trying to find logical stopping points (and these seem to be standard-length chapters for me anyway), but also Real Life is still being a bit complicated on me and I'd rather post shorter chapters more often than long ones every six months!_

_**Warnings:**__ Whump. Also, heroes can be arseholes._

**Chapter Five **

Loki was off-balance when his sock-clad feet contacted the ground. He stumbled, barking his shin against something, then fell to his knees. It took him a moment to catch his breath and gather his wits. Then, instinctively clutching the flowered quilt around himself as though for protection, he slowly got to his feet and took stock of his surroundings.

The main theme, as Tony might say, appeared to be stone. Stone walls, stone floor- there was a rough cot next to him, obviously the object against which he had struck his shin, constructed of heavy wood and bearing a sort of thin pallet covered in rough cloth, filled perhaps with straw. The pallet was flattened down, as though by long use.

The only light in the cell came from a caged lamp high in one of the walls, well above the reach even of one as tall as Loki. The door was heavy wood, with no handle on this side. Built into it was a small portal to permit anyone outside to look in upon the occupant of the... cell.

_Cell. _

On first thought, despite numerous differences in construction, Loki was irresistibly reminded of the SHIELD cell in which he had been imprisoned, and in which he had so very nearly died. Heart pounding, Loki's first instinct was to gather his magic- ill he might be, but his powers were still at his command if he concentrated- and transport himself out of the cell to escape.

He controlled the impulse, forcing himself to _stop_ and _think._ This was not SHIELD, nor was he bound in merciless restraints to leech away his powers, his very _self._ His circumstances _now_ were not his circumstances _then,_ and panic would surely make everything worse. He had, after all, no idea where he was. Therefore his first instinct- to _get out_ of this cell by the swiftest method possible- was apt to cause him more problems than it solved: with no known destination to aim for, he could only pass through the door, ending up in a prison corridor. He would still be none the wiser regarding his location or possible escape routes, and with a great many awkward explanations to offer when someone found him wandering.

Very well. The obvious thing to do, therefore, was to reach out to Yggdrasil- which was much easier if he stood firmly upon the soil of a realm, but could be done from within a building- and determine where _home_ was, in relation to his current location. He would then, rather than making a short local jump into the unknown, simply climb through the World Tree itself and so back to Bristol, with a story to tell that would surely be funny someday soon.

The question of how he had gotten here in the first place could be addressed after he was safely home. Gathering his concentration, closing his eyes and still clutching the quilt around his shoulders, Loki reached out with his magic to Yggdrasil.

And found his metaphorical grip slipping as he reached into a network of completely unfamiliar branches. Loki's eyes flew open and his heart bounded with a return of alarm.

_Unfamiliar._ It had been a very great number of years since any of Yggdrasil's branches had felt so alien to him. He had begun his study of world-walking as an adolescent, and since then had nearly perfected his knowledge of the limbs and branches of the World Tree. Even had he been on Svartalfheim- a realm he had not visited since the youthful mishap that prompted his later close study of travel without use of the Bifrost- he knew he would recognize the structure of Yggdrasil, could find his way home. After all, when first he voyaged to Jotunheim with evil in his heart, Yggdrasil had felt familiar, though his destination was not.

His arrival in a relatively safe, unoccupied location on Jotunheim had been a matter of luck- luck and the fact the realm was so barren. Such blind travel was hardly ideal- one was just as likely to land in the middle of some crowded marketplace and ruin all efforts at stealth- but he had been reckless enough to risk it. And again, though his specific terminus had been a matter of luck, the path from Asgard to the realm itself had been a known quantity.

What Loki felt now, when he reached out again, felt like a _completely different World Tree._ He did not recognize anything about it, had no idea of the realm on which he currently stood, or where home might be in relation to himself. And that being the case, it was folly to hurl himself into the unknown, possibly to land in some volcano on Muspelheim and so be immolated.

No, escaping this cell by his usual means and then taking his chances would be foolish. Loki sat down on the edge of the cot and considered, working hard to remain calm.

There were no sanitary facilities in the cell, not even a bucket. That, he reasoned, meant it was intended only for short-term use. Now he thought about it he saw a certain resemblance to the holding cells in the palace of Asgard, which he and Thor and Thor's friends had been taken to see by Tyr the weapons-master. It had not been with the intent of warning or frightening them, of course: the group had been learning of Asgard's legal system at the time. To supplement their lessons Tyr had walked them all through the entire process, from the initial holding cell, to appearance before the Thing- which ruled on civil matters and any crimes not directly related to the overall safety of the realm, which were the king's province- and thence to the actual prison where those sentenced to a term of confinement would serve their sentences.

If Thor's friends had succeeded in returning Thor to Asgard, that time, Loki would certainly have become well-acquainted with the holding cells, at least. And if Father had not permitted him to fall from the Bifrost-

He firmly did not think about it, instead concentrating on his current predicament. The holding cells in Asgard were rather more comfortable for the occupant, but Loki felt fairly confident this one was intended for the same purpose. That did not necessarily mean someone would shortly be coming to find him. The flattened pallet on the cot looked old, and could have been in recent use or abandoned for many years. There was no telling whether this cell was meant to be occupied or not, whether anyone would come of their own volition to look in on a prisoner.

Loki still could, of course, let himself out of the cell and go wandering in search of assistance, but once again he ruled out that idea. A stranger appearing in the prison corridors was apt to find himself the focus of a great deal of unwanted attention, and protesting his innocence and harmless intentions was not guaranteed to help him, not even clad in pajamas and brandishing no weapon more formidable than a flowered quilt.

No, this was clearly a time to be above-board and forthright. His brother and friends would be so proud of him, Loki encouraged himself. He would call out, alerting whatever guards there were to his presence. The appearance of a stranger in a cell that should either be unoccupied or contain someone else entirely would call for investigation. Whoever was in charge here would be brought to investigate, and Loki would explain himself- well, would explain the little he knew of his circumstances- and they could work from there.

The strangeness of Yggdrasil was worrisome, not least because it made Loki wonder whether the inhabitants of this realm would even speak the Alltongue. Surely, though, even if he could not make himself understood, it would be obvious that something very peculiar had happened. Surely those in charge would realize he was not one of their lawful prisoners, and would help him.

Surely they would.

Loki gathered his resolve, rose to his feet, and crossed the cell to the door. Knocking sharply on the rough wood, he leaned close to the little portal before him and shouted,

"Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?"

After a moment he heard the sound of a bolt being drawn on the other side, and the little portal swung outward.

~oOo~

Annie, the smashed tea things at her feet, was the first to recover. Mitchell still sat frozen at the end of the sofa, as if he'd turned to stone like the trolls in _The Hobbit_ when the sun came up.

On the floor in front of the sofa floundered a man in green and bronze- clothing that looked very much like the sort of thing people wore in Asgard. The man himself looked very much like-

It was impossible, that was obvious, but Annie was long since accustomed to believing six impossible things before breakfast, and it was now well after tea-time. She was a ghost who lived with a vampire, a werewolf, and an alien sorcerer. She had helped the local superhero community save the world from threats from time past and beyond the galaxy. She had refused to cross into the afterlife, and had sent away the door that appeared for her.

She knew as well as anyone that disbelief, that declaring something could not be happening simply because it should not be _possible,_ was a waste of time, and also a luxury she could not afford when it was clear the thing _was happening_.

The person in front of her in the almost-Asgardian clothing, who was trying to get up from his hands and knees as if he thought he needed to defend himself, looked like Loki. He looked almost _exactly_ like Loki, so there was no point in whining that he _could not be_ Loki.

He looked _almost_ exactly like _her_ Loki, but her granddad used to say the devil was in the details. This Loki wasn't just dressed in clothing _her_ Loki would only wear under some sort of duress, probably to humour Tony Stark or to please his mother on a visit to Asgard. His hair was longer, dirty-looking, and his clothes had the appearance of hard usage. He also looked like he'd recently been the target of a pretty serious beating, armour scuffed, his face bruised and scraped, blood trickling from his nostrils and his left ear. His eyes were sunken, his colour terrible, and he looked somehow much older than _her_ Loki.

Aside from everything else, _her_ Loki wouldn't be wearing manacles linked together by a chain so long it was hard to imagine it being much use in the way of restraint.

And he certainly hadn't been gagged with a metal contraption that looked a bit like the one they used on Hannibal Lecter in _The Silence Of the Lambs:_ a vicious muzzle that indicated either his intent to bite, or someone else's to humiliate as well as silence him, or possibly both.

His eyes met hers, disoriented and defensive and scared, and _that look_ was enough to make her forget all the other differences between _her_ Loki and this one. _That look,_ Annie had seen on _her_ Loki too, once upon a time.

She stepped forward, extending a hand.

"Loki?" she said gently.

~oOo~

_She knew his name. She knew who he was. _

Was this, after all, to be his sentence: returned to this thrice-accursed realm and left at the mercy of the creatures who lived here? Given what they were willing to do to one another, there was no telling what vengeance they would visit on their would-be conqueror, now they had him powerless.

_Powerless._

The manacles were only part of it. He had, of course, recognized those the moment his brother- the moment the golden prince produced them. The soldier and the archer had objected to the length of the chain, were only half-convinced when told it could not be altered without harm to the spells it carried. They thought the long chain meant the manacles would not work as restraints. The prince knew better, and so too did Loki.

The manacles had not been forged specifically to imprison the Jotun traitor. They were far older than that, created by the king's father for use on foreign sorcerers enslaved by Asgard. The chain was long enough to permit the prisoners to work at whatever menial tasks were set them, if their lives were not forfeit. In addition to binding the magic of their wearer, spells on the manacles would prevent the prisoner using the long chain as a weapon against his jailers.

No such spells existed to prevent the sorcerer taking the coward's way out and hanging himself with the convenient chain, but that was naturally no concern of Asgard. Had he not been too weakened to form intent, Loki might have considered that route, himself.

The muzzle, however, was specially constructed, and Loki could still see the smirking face of the Iron Man as he brought it. _A little something to remember us by._ Thor had held his head still while the human first displayed his handiwork and then fastened it in place, jamming a sort of steel paddle into the prisoner's mouth and fastening the device around the back of his head. There were runes branded into the metal, copied from the manacles. They imbued the magic of Asgard into the Midgardian steel, and the human had crowed about that as well.

What the fools did not realize, of course, was how little it was necessary: the tender attentions of his "allies" had left Loki's powers almost entirely drained, leaving him with just enough for simple illusions to frighten the mortals and confuse the lackwit golden prince. Aside from such scraps, all he had possessed for defense or attack was the scepter that anchored him to his masters.

_Who controls the would-be king?_ How like the fool prince to come so close to the truth, and then lose interest in the question before he managed to arrive at the solution. Tenacious he was in matters of concern to him, but the Jotun raised by his side was not and never had been. In all likelihood they would never look upon each other again.

_Never mind._

He dragged his wandering attention back to the present, as the woman started forward and the man seated above him finally stood. Between the restraints, the lingering effects of the... _persuasions_... of the Chitauri, his handling by the green beast and the ongoing lack of food or water, he could not now manage even an illusion to confuse these mortals. Escape was hardly possible. His fate might be to die at the hands of these creatures, but he would at least do so on his feet. He gathered what strength he possessed, ignoring the pain that shot down his back and into his limbs, and tried to rise.

And was immediately overwhelmed by dizziness. He staggered, fighting nausea and loss of balance.

A moment later he was aware of an arm wrapping around his torso, tightening painfully and trapping one arm between his own body and that of the man. For a mortal, he was unexpectedly strong: Loki was unable to break free, and his attempted return blow was easily blocked.

It took a further moment of confusion before he realized his was not a _return_ blow at all, the man was not attacking him- far away in the back of his mind he felt a flicker of sour amusement, that he should be so astonished _not_ to be attacked. Instead, the mortal seemed to be merely supporting him, trying to prevent him falling. The man and woman were both making confused noises, utterances he could not hear properly past the blood roaring in his ears, but they certainly seemed intended to soothe and reassure.

It was a trick. It _had to be_ a trick.

And yet, moments later, he found himself sitting on the padded leather seat, shamefully propped against the man. His hands were being held in an insubstantial, chilly clasp that turned out to belong to the woman.

"Calm down," she instructed, her own voice remarkably steady for one who found herself suddenly in close quarters with the monster who had attacked her planet. "Try to breathe through your nose. You're all right. You're safe here." He wanted to snarl at her idiocies, but with his tongue bound that was impossible.

He could, of course, have torn his hands from her grasp. 

He did not.

It took a moment more to become aware the arm around him had loosened, and the man was now patting his shoulder. Freeing himself from _that_ would involve more movement than he thought he could manage without fainting. He could not even clench his teeth without breaking them on the muzzle, so instead he sat, feigning acquiescence.

"Loki?" The repetition of his name finally drew his attention back to the mortal woman. He focused on her. "Your name is Loki, isn't it?" She seemed to take his blink as confirmation, patted his hands and smiled at him. "Okay. Okay. My name is Annie, and this is Mitchell. This has to be awfully confusing for you, we understand that. We don't know what's happening either, but we have a friend named Loki- " for the first time her voice lost its steadiness, wobbled strangely- "who looks just like you. He was here just a minute ago, and now he's gone and you're here instead."

There was no surprise in learning her true concern was for someone else. There was, however, a great deal of bewilderment in learning the _someone else_ was _also_ a Loki. There being little benefit in wondering about that now, Loki simply tried to hold onto the stream of her words.

"I don't know where you came from or how you got here," the woman—_Annie—_continued, "but Mitchell and I will do what we can to help you. Just, just stay calm, okay?" She patted him again.

The man- _Mitchell-_ patted Loki's shoulder one last time and got to his feet. As he walked toward a doorway hung with strings of beads, he was muttering something incomprehensible. Loki found himself wondering what in the Nine a _screwdriver_ was.

~oOo~

As the portal opened in the door, Loki began talking as quickly as he could into the astonished face of the guard. He made no effort to preserve any sort of reserve or dignity. This was partly because it was difficult to do so when his head felt stuffed full of wet towels and he was sweaty and dizzy, but there was also a tactical reason: he was hoping that if he projected a convincing impression of confusion and helplessness, whoever was on the other side of the door would be more inclined to help him. It was hardly manipulation, Loki reasoned, when it was all true.

"Please listen to me. I need your help. My name is Loki, I come from a city called Bristol, in the realm of Midgard- which you may call Earth- and I seem to be the victim of some kind of magical mishap. I have no idea how I came to be here, but I swear to you I mean no harm. I just, I would like to find my way home, and if you can tell me where we are, it would be of great assistance- "

All of this came out in such a rush that Loki was overtaken by a fit of coughing, which he hastily muffled in the crook of his elbow. As he ducked his head to do so, he heard the portal snap shut above his head. Horrified, Loki pounded on the door again, trying to catch his breath enough to call out.

"Come back! Please come back- "

And then he was silenced by another coughing spell that made his stomach muscles hurt and his head ring. Even so, from the other side of the door, Loki could hear voices:

"- happened?"

"I don't know. He's gotten the muzzle off somehow. I don't- "

"We should tell the prince."

"We've _been_ telling the prince- "

"Yes, but now he will have to listen, with the Allfather still away from the realm. You, go and find the prince. Tell him there has been a change with his brother and, and he must come and see for himself. The rest of us will stay, in case he has the manacles off, and tries to escape."

Loki leaned on the door, head spinning, trying to take in what he had just heard. The prince? The Allfather? _His brother?_

Manacles and a muzzle.

What in the Nine was going on, and what had the prisoner in this cell done? And why did no one seem to realize the person in this cell was not the one who was supposed to be here?

Panic began to well up again, and Loki had some difficulty mastering it this time.

Then he went quietly to the cot at the back of the cell. He sat down on the edge of it, hands clasped tightly in his lap, and waited.


End file.
